


The man from A.L.F.R.E.D

by Rainbowfootsteps



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Cold War, Historical, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, everyone is hella gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowfootsteps/pseuds/Rainbowfootsteps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred F Jones works best alone. Partners get in his way - especially when they're six feet tall, Russian, disarmingly handsome, and want to snap his neck. So when he's forced to work alongside Ivan Braginsky to retrieve documents stolen by a renegade british agent, chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violent Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this fic, please note that this is set in the cold war, so there will likely be mention of Nazis, Fascism and other related subjects.

Alfred’s day wasn’t going particularly well. Sure, it had started off alright. His debriefing by his forever-unimpressed superior Toris had been sharp but quick, leaving him plenty of time to sit around in a quaint cafe until night fell over Berlin. Unfortunately, his mission wasn’t going quite as smoothly as the rest of the day had. In fact, at this point in time he was in a small office room furiously trying to open a safe, there was a russian special agent storming up the stairs towards him, and his suit now had a rip in it. Oh well, at least his shoes still looked good.

 _Click. Click. Click._ Alfred listened intently to the inner workings of the safe as he fiddled with it, trying to block out the noise of heavy footsteps quickly getting closer. Come on, come on, open. 

_Click. Click. Click. Clunk!_ With a creak the safe finally swung open to reveal a mass of manilla folders. Damn it, he didn’t have time for this! He pushed aside the first few folders and from the top one, a small envelope slipped out. Thank god. He scooped it up and put it in his jacket’s inside pocket. 

_Slam!_ The metal door behind him rattled on its hinges as the man behind it crashed into it with all his might. Right then, new escape route. Alfred glanced around the office. Plain white walls and no windows. No more doors, but there was a hatch opening to the roof. As he popped it open and scrambled up, the door finally lost the battle and crashed to the ground. All Alfred saw as he slammed the hatch shut was a white scarf and a furious purple eye.

The wind was bitingly cold as Alfred ran across the roof. He heard the hatch smash open behind him, and he risked a glance behind. Shit, this guy was big. Around six feet and built like a tank, Alfred’s adversary had white hair and wore a long white scarf. He was also a giant russian ball of anger barrelling towards him. 

Alfred reached the end of the flat roof and jumped onto the next one, stumbling slightly. He needed an escape route, fast. He veered left and grinned as he saw a ladder leading down to an alleyway. He would use the other man’s largeness against him and lose him in the narrow, winding streets. He slid down the ladder and sped down the alley, diving down the first road he came across. He splashed through a puddle, and sighed. Now his shoes were ruined. What a day.

It took fifteen minutes of jogging down nondescript roads before Alfred felt safe enough to return to his temporary headquarters. It then took him fifteen more minutes to navigate the winding cobbled roads to get back to HQ. Finally, at 10:53pm, Alfred was ushered into a plain house on a plain street. He instantly flopped down on the lounge’s sofa. The room was dingy and clad with peeling yellow wallpaper. A television flickered with static in the corner. Toris was going to kill him.

“What the hell was that, Jones.” Toris’ voice came from behind him. Alfred closed his eyes and bit back a sigh.

“You went half an hour over your designated time limit. This careless behaviour almost makes me feel like you don’t want to be here.” Toris said icily. Alfred bit back a snarky reply.

“I had a Russian agent on my tail.” He replied.

“The Russians watch all our agents, don’t flatter yourself.” Toris huffed, sitting down on the couch opposite. He was a wiry man of about 60, with mousy brown hair that almost reached his shoulders and sharp green eyes that glared at Alfred.

“He was built like an Ox! Anyway, I got the letter, so there’s no problem.” Alfred replied, taking the envelope from his jacket and placing it on the coffee table next to him. Inside that thin paper exterior was information worth millions.

“Don’t get cocky, Jones. I saved you from jail and I can put you right back again. So don’t think your spot in the CIA is ever guaranteed. Is that clear?” Toris said with a glare. Alfred hid his emotions under a hollow smile.

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“Sir, you said there was something you wished to talk about with me.” The morning was crisp and clear and there were few people around as Alfred and Toris walked down the quiet road. There were shops to every side of them and ahead, they were quickly approaching a large fountain.

“Yes, about that. I have a new mission for you.” Toris replied. Alfred perked up at this. He didn’t prompt Toris for an answer - he knew that would only come once the old man had a newspaper in his hands and a cup of coffee in front of him. Sure enough, after a few minutes of walking they entered a small cafe. The bell jingled gently as they entered the quiet interior. Checkered red and white tables housed no customers, save for two men at the back of the cafe.

“An americano, sir?” Alfred said with a grin. Then he paused. One of those men at the back of the cafe was wearing a scarf. He turned around and his eyes widened. He was staring right into the same purple eyes that had been glaring at him last night. The Russian agent seemed as surprised as he was, but reacted slightly faster. Before Alfred could get out of the way, a strong hand was crushing his windpipe and he was being dragged backwards towards a wall. He slammed his arm down on the man’s elbow and pushed him aside with all his strength. The Russian’s shoulder was violently shoved into the wall behind and he grunted angrily. Alfred was about to take a swing at the man’s jaw when Toris’s sharp voice stopped him.

“Jones, stop immediately!” Toris said disapprovingly.

“Killing your partner the second time you see them is terribly bad mannered.” Wait. Partner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! (note: although this chapter mirrors the plot of The Man from U.N.C.L.E, the rest of the fic will not follow the plot of the movie to the letter)


	2. Mission given

“Alfred, meet Ivan Braginsky.” Toris slowly sat down next to the man still sitting at the checkered table.

“Mr. Galante, so good to see you again.” He greeted the man with an uncharacteristic smile. Mr. Galante was even shorter than Toris, but not as old. His light brown hair had a few grey hairs and his dark brown suit was immaculately clean. An ebony cane rested by the table next to him. Alfred stared at Ivan, trying to formulate words but having no sound come out. In the end Ivan spoke first, looking at Mr. Galante.

“Sir, I do not understand.” His voice was deep and heavily accented.

“You two. Sit down.” Mr. Galante demanded. Shocked into obedience, Alfred and Ivan sat down opposite to each other next to their superiors.

“I’m sure you’re both very confused right now.” Toris began. Alfred had to bite his cheek to stop himself saying no shit, sherlock. 

“But allow me to explain. As you both know, the world is at a standstill. Tensions are high, the stakes are higher... Usually, the United States and the Soviet Union would never consider working together like this. However, a matter has arisen that forces us to collaborate.” Toris continued. Alfred and Ivan looked at each other, Alfred doubtfully and Ivan with slight revulsion.

“There has been a breach of information involving the identities and locations of Russian and American scientists alike. This information includes important nuclear physicists who are now at great risk. In light of this, it has been decided that the two countries will have to work together.”

“The information has been stolen by a renegade British agent called Alice Kirkland. I'd love to tell you more about her, but she stole her own file before scarpering to god knows where. We don’t know her location, but we do know her associate - a man called Francis Bonnefoy. He runs a pharmaceutical drug company, and we believe he trades illegal drugs in the French black market. He’s currently in Paris. You’ll be given more information later, but now I think you should have some time to get to know each other.” He said with a wry smile. Mr. Galante said something to Ivan in husky Russian, then stood up, shook hands with Toris, and walked out of the store. Toris nodded slightly to Alfred, handed him a card with a French hotel’s address on it, and left too.

Alfred and Ivan stared at each other in silence. The cafe was stiflingly silent around them. Alfred noted a slight scar on Ivan’s forehead, and another scar on his lip. His skin was pale almost to the point of looking sickly. His white hair was unusual, although perhaps it was actually a very light platinum blonde. Eventually Ivan broke the silence.

“After meeting you last night, I researched you, Jones.”

“You stayed in after world war two, and became a master thief. Five year stealing spree until you were caught and sentenced to a lifetime of jail time. Now you work for the CIA. Sounds to me like you got saved from prison by becoming a military dog. How does it feel to be a dog on a leash, Mr. Jones?” He said. Alfred smiled thinly. 

“A dog on a leash? I’m trying to see my situation from your point of view, but I can’t seem to get my head that far up my ass.” He replied. Ivan’s jaw stiffened and Alfred mentally praised his insulting skills.

“Let’s just get this assignment over with as quickly as possible, cowboy.” Ivan snarled. He pushed his chair back and marched out of the cafe. Short tempered, Alfred noted silently. He wondered why this man had been chosen as his partner. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

The plane ride to Paris was relatively uneventful, save for the delicious shrimp cocktails that Alfred couldn’t resist (it was later on in the plane ride during a bumpy patch that he discovered he’d had a few too many). An icy silence existed between Ivan and Alfred all the way through the ride, and continued through the taxi ride to the hotel. Finally in the hotel’s luxurious foyer, Alfred broke the silence.

“Ever been to France before?” He asked as they walked towards the receptionist. A few well dressed men and women wandered around them in the almost blindingly white marble room. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead from the high, ornate ceiling. Ivan merely grunted.

“It’s a beautiful country. Beautiful food, beautiful culture…” Alfred paused as they reached the receptionist. A peppy looking woman with golden blonde hair in a bun smiled at them.

“And this country has some very beautiful women.” He said with a trademark smile. Ivan snorted contemptuously as the receptionist giggled. 

“Hotel room under the name of John Franklin.” He told the receptionist.

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid a slight problem came up and you had to be moved to a different room.” The woman said with an apologetic smile as she handed over a key.

“Not a problem.” Alfred replied, taking the key before Ivan could. He’d have to tell Toris about the room change as soon as they got up there.

“Ah… Yes… However, there is another… slight issue.”

* * *

“You are sleeping on the couch.” Ivan said firmly as they stared at the king sized bed. Alfred grinned. 

“Aww, don't want to sleep with me? I'm insulted. Anyway, where’s the fairness in that? I’ll flip a coin.” He suggested. He pulled a nickel from his pocket, flicked it into the air and caught it onto the back of his hand.

“....Heads.” Ivan chose after a moment’s pause. Alfred raised his eyebrows and uncovered the coin. 

“If i’m going to bunk on the couch, I want the blue pillow - and one of those little chocolates they put on the dresser.”

“Don’t push your luck, cowboy.”


	3. 30% Pure, 100% Misadventure

_Francis Bonnefoy lives on Rue Saint-Honoré. We have reason to believe that he sometimes talks to customers of his illicit drugs - almost certainly heroin - in person, so you will pose as customers to infiltrate his household. You must plant bugs in as many places as you deem necessary so we can monitor him for information. Also, search for any documents that may help in locating agent Kirkland. Do not engage in combat with him or any of his associates._

Toris’ message lingered in Alfred’s mind as he walked through the Paris streets, Ivan by his side. Gargoyles lurked above them perched on the breathtaking masonry of the many buildings pressed around them on every side. Smoke from the passing cars mingled with the scent of roses and coffee emanating from a nearby cafe.

“Perhaps after meeting our charming monsieur Bonnefoy, we can visit the _Jardin de tullerias_. I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.” Alfred commented. Ivan glanced at him coldly.

“Your pronunciation is laughable. Do you expect Bonnefoy to welcome us when you can’t even say his name correctly?” He replied. Alfred rolled his eyes and checked his convoluted map of the Paris streets. 

“Right, his apartment should be… here. He lives in the penthouse suite.” Alfred noted, staring up at the white building. Impossibly intricate architecture was evident in every part of its facade, however Alfred couldn’t help but feel like it was almost arrogantly beautiful - a showcase of the best France could offer. They both stared at the outside of the building for a moment, then Ivan marched inside, Alfred following closely after.

The lobby of the apartment building was just as grand as the outside had been. The smokey marble desk and grandiose chandelier exuded elegance. Alfred wondered whether anything in France didn’t. 

“Guests of Monsieur Bonnefoy. He is expecting us.” Ivan told the receptionist in his usual brusque manner. Soon enough they were riding a rather cramped elevator up to the top of the building. Alfred took the moment of peace to reflect on his mysterious partner. He still knew next to nothing of the strange Russian man. Research on him had been of little value - all he had learnt was that in his youth, Ivan Braginski had been unfortunate enough to lose his family in a house fire. Little more was gained from his investigation except for useless tidbits about his hometown (Moscow) and birth date (December 30). Alfred wondered where his partner had acquired his two small scars.

His musing was interrupted by the elevator doors sliding open to reveal a short hall with only two doors along it. At the end, a terrifically ugly abstract painting hung above a large potted plant. Alfred checked the golden plate on the doors. 

“304, Bonnefoy residence.” He read out loud, shrugged, then knocked. For a few seconds, silence. Then a muffled ‘coming!’. Shortly after, the dark oak door swung open to reveal an immaculately dressed man with long blonde hair in a messy ponytail. His face was sharp and intelligent, with high cheekbones. Alfred became suddenly hyper aware of the electronic bugs in his pocket.

“Ah, Monsieur Franklin, Monsieur Vavilov. Do come in.” Francis ushered them into his apartment with a smile. A high ceiling made the room feel large, and a balcony bathed the lounge in light.

“Sit down, please. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” He said, motioning towards the white couches before disappearing through a door. Three sofas were arranged around a dark coffee table, which itself sat on a (suspiciously realistic) zebra striped rug. Alfred obligingly flopped down onto a sofa, sinking into it slightly. Ivan sat down more rigidly with a suspicious inspection of the surrounding walls. Seeming satisfied, he quickly slipped a bug onto the bottom of the coffee table. A few seconds later Francis re-entered the room, carrying a silver platter laden with alcohol and glasses.

“I am so glad you two came to me for this rather than attempting to obtain it on the streets.” Francis said with another smile. 

“Lowlife dealers can be so unsanitary with their goods. I, however, guarantee that all my products are of the finest quality. I assume this is for personal use?” He continued, looking at the two expectantly. Alfred nodded.

“ _Bon_. I have had some clubs request large amounts of heroin, and then never pay for it in full. I much prefer business with personal users.” Francis said with a catlike smile. 

“First things first, what is your preferred purity?” He asked. 

“30 percent.” Ivan said calmly. Alfred glanced at him with apprehension. Had he bought heroin before?

“Excuse me, monsieur, would you be able to direct me to your bathroom?” Alfred interjected. Francis nodded and gestured down a hallway connected to the lounge.

“Second door on your right.” He replied.

“Thank you kindly.” Alfred said, then smoothly walked out of the room. 

Digging his hand into his pocket, he calmly placed a bug behind another truly atrocious abstract painting hanging on the wall. Ducking into a room he discovered a bedroom, and slipped a bug behind a lamp. A few more bugs went down before he went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. No sooner had he clicked the door shut than a muffled yell resounded throughout the building.

“What the hell?” Alfred muttered, unlocking the door and rushing out. To his horror, Ivan was standing over Francis, who was on the floor clutching his wrist. A pistol lay on the floor a few metres away. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Alfred cried. Ivan glanced at him.

“He knew we were undercover police here to bust his drug deals.” He said, giving Alfred a look. Alfred stared at him for a second, mistified, before catching on.

“Damn.” He swore with only slight conviction. 

"Don't play dumb." Francis hissed.

"I know who you really are - you're here about Alice, aren't you?" He snarled.

“We-” Alfred's response was cut short by a bullet whistling past his ear and planting itself firmly in the wall behind him. Francis had lunged for his gun and was now taking shots at Alfred while running for the connected kitchen. Alfred ducked behind a couch and pulled out his own gun. Ivan darted behind the sofa as well, taking out his gun from his inner jacket pocket.

“We’re not supposed to kill him.” Alfred hissed. 

“We’re not supposed to die, either.” Ivan growled back. Then he frowned. Alfred wondered why, then he realised. There was far too much silence in the room. Peeking over the couch, Alfred’s eyes widened. From behind the marble counter of the kitchen, a grenade sailed through the air, landing on the rug in front of him.


	4. Hasty Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, all sentences in italics are spoken in French.

Being a quickwitted and intelligent man, Alfred’s reaction was refined and well thought out.

“Fuck!’

He ran for the apartment’s door, ignoring the bullets smashing into the wall behind him. He flew out the door and ran down the hallway as fast as he could, stopping only at the elevator’s closed doors to look behind him. Ivan was just slamming the apartment door behind him. They threw themselves on the ground, closed their eyes and covered their ears.

It was ten heartstopping seconds before Alfred could bring himself to force his eyes open again. 

“Am I in heaven?” He murmured, then looked at Ivan.

“Nope, hell.” He said with a sigh. Ivan glared at him. Why hadn’t the grenade gone off? 

“A fake?” Ivan muttered, seemingly reading Alfred’s thoughts. 

“Why would he throw a fake grenade?” Alfred wondered aloud. He heard the click of Francis locking his apartment door. Fat lot of good that would do. Slowly Alfred stood up and brushed wall plaster off his dishevelled suit. 

Ding! How convenient, the elevator had come up. The shining doors opened to reveal several men in suits holding rather impressive guns.

“Oh! Hello. Are you looking for the bathroom?” Alfred asked them with a grin. The man in front raised an eyebrow. In the blink of an eye Alfred struck his hand and his gun went flying. He didn’t stick around to see the thug’s reaction. He took a right turn and flew down the stairs, taking them three at a time in ungainly leaps. Ivan was right beside him, leaning forward so far he looked like he would fall over any second. 

Alfred’s feet barely touched the steps. Down level after level, never daring to look back. On the second floor he missed a step and nearly fell down the stairs; Ivan’s rough hand pulled him back before his face slammed to the ground.

“Thanks.” He said breathlessly. 

“Don’t mention it.” Ivan replied. Thank god all these filthy rich hotel goers took the elevator instead of the stairs, or there would be screaming aristocrats everywhere. Actually, Alfred could hear faint yelling permeating through the building. Finally they reached the bottom of the stairs. All that stood between them and the foyer was a plain wooden door, with a metal panel stating ‘push’ where the knob would be. Alfred gave it a shove. Damn.

“Looks like we’re taking the window.” Ivan grumbled, glancing at the window to his left. Quickly he whipped off his scarf and wrapped it around his fist, then swung at the window with all his might. Smash! Before the shards of glass had settled on the ground Ivan scrambled through, closely followed by the disgruntled American. The side of the building was on a wide pedestrian-only road, but by some miracle only a man selling newspapers was around to gape at the duo as they made a hasty escape into the dark alleyways of Paris.

* * *

“That went horribly.” 

“Yes.”

“Our cover was blown in the first five minutes, we didn’t find any helpful evidence, we nearly got lead in our skulls.”

“Correct.”

“I almost wish I’d died back there; Toris is going to rip me apart once he finds out.” Alfred moaned, cradling his head in his hands. Being back in their hotel room was barely a comfort due to the crushing frustration in his mind. He didn’t want to admit to himself the truth about why everything had gone to shit, but it was glaringly obvious: they hadn’t worked together in the slightest. A lack of communication and trust was a recipe for disaster when working with a partner. After a moment of swallowing his pride, Alfred changed position on the couch from lying on it dramatically to facing Ivan (whose stalk-straight posture on the sofa opposite unnerved Alfred intensely). After another second to gain some composure, Alfred began his plea.

“Look. I don’t like you, you don’t like me. You bloody commies can all go die in a hole for all I care.” At this, Ivan raised a bushy eyebrow.

“But if we keep trying to work separate ways on missions, nothing’s ever going to get done right. We need to work together, and plan what we do before we do it. Hey, I don’t like it any more than you do, buddy.” Alfred protested after seeing Ivan’s burning glare. After a moment’s silence, Ivan closed his eyes meditatively.

“We will communicate more if that is what you think will improve our performance on the field.” Ivan rumbled emotionlessly. A sour insult trembled on the tip of Alfred’s tongue but he pushed it back.

“Awesome. Then I vote that we start listening into monsieur boner-fwah’s conversations and see what information we can pick up.” He said. Ivan nodded and stood up, leaving the room to go to the adjacent bedroom. Upon returning he brought a small black box with a headset connected to it by a chunky white wire.

“We’ll take listening shifts of one hour each. I hope you’re ready for a long night, cowboy.”

* * *

Bugging someone’s house is cool in concept. In practice, however, collection of information is mind-numbingly boring. Alfred’s brain was slowly melting into a puddle as the clock struck midnight. Francis had moved about the apartment quietly for a few hours, had a lady over (that hour was definitely the most uncomfortable in Alfred’s life), then gone back to being silent. The soft static coming through the headphones was beginning to lull Alfred to sleep. Surely, if he closed his eyes for just a second…

 _“You took your time coming.”_ Alfred was jolted awake by a voice crackling through the headset. His skills at French were mediocre, but he could understand the gist of a conversation. Finally, they’d be able to get some information. He quickly scooped up his notepad and pen and prepared to start scribbling down conversation.

_“My apologies.”_

_“Don’t bother with excuses, let’s get down to business.”_ The sound of rustling tickled Alfred’s ears.

 _“Two bumbling idiots came in today posing as customers, trying to find out about Alice. My men saw them off, but we need to move quickly in case they return. We need to go to the airfield immediately, and get to Venice.”_ Italy? Kirkland was still in Europe? 

_“Prepare my plane - and get me a drink, Alice is going to give me hell for this...”_


	5. More grenades: the thrilling sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight editing has been done to chapter 2.

“Holy flaming balls, dude, crashing won’t get us there any faster!” Alfred gripped the car seat as hard as he could. “What kind of commie driving license do you have?” 

“Do you want Bonnefoy to tell Kirkland about our presence? No? Then shut up, cowboy.” Ivan replied. Alfred was tempted to remind him of Toris’ order to not hurt Francis, but decided that at this point they didn’t really have a choice. He wrenched the steering wheel left as far as it would go, sending their little blue car howling around the corner.

“This car is rented!” Alfred reminded him as they went over a pothole, making Ivan’s head bump into the car’s roof. Paris was dark around them, pinholes of light peppered around the thin streets. Light rain made the road glitter with puddles. Ivan scraped around another corner and Alfred’s head smacked into the window.

“What the hell?” He complained, nursing his fresh bruise. Ivan narrowly went around another bend in the road, but this time grabbed Alfred’s shoulder before he was thrown sideways.

“There.” Ivan pointed to a stationary car being boarded by several shadowed individuals. When they saw the blue car recklessly approaching, they hurried to get into their car. Alfred grabbed his gun, muffler firmly attached. He reached out to the window crank and battled with its rusty stiffness. Finally the window scraped open and he stuck his head out as much as he dared. Francis’ car was ahead of them and slowly getting further away, despite Ivan’s breakneck speed. _Bang!_ Alfred’s bullet shattered the car’s back windshield, but he couldn’t tell whether he’d hit someone. He aimed again, but this time the car disappeared left around a corner.

“Wait - go right here.” Alfred told Ivan, who raised an eyebrow but forced the struggling automobile into a thin alleyway. Alfred opened the car’s glove box and pulled out the crumpled map inside.

“We went this way this morning…. Take the second left.” He commanded, tilting his head to make sense of the map’s mess of squiggles. Several breakneck corners later, they were back onto a wide road with warehouses on every side, and Francis’ car was to the left of them. Ivan quickly drew up next to them and they battled for space on the road. Alfred leaned on the open window, aimed his gun at the driver, and fired. Instantly the man slumped over the wheel and the car swerved - unfortunately, it swerved towards them. Alfred ducked back into the car just as metal hit metal, filling the air with screeching. Alfred saw Francis scramble to grab his steering wheel and regain control of the flailing car. Ivan took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“Hold on.” He steered their car left.

 _Crash!_ The cars collided again, this time causing Francis’ car to skid out of control. Its wheels howled as the car smashed through a wire fence and slammed into a pyramid of logs. Ivan neatly parked next to the fence’s gaping hole. Finally, the chase was over. Just as Ivan was about to push open his car door, Alfred motioned for him to stop.

“Wait - something’s happening. Francis might be rigging the car.” Alfred squinted in the dark. The crashed car’s door was pushed open and a body slumped out. They both peered at it, trying to work out if it was alive. From inside the car, an arm appeared. Alfred ducked, expecting a hail of bullets. Instead, something rolled towards them. Warily he peeked over the dashboard. Oh, fuck it. 

“Out! Get out!” He shoved Ivan as hard as he could, then slammed open his own car door. Where the hell did Francis keep all these grenades? He ran across the wet concrete and threw himself to the ground. This time, the grenade was real. The explosion shattered the car’s windows and sent suffocating smoke everywhere. Alfred’s ears rang from the noise and his left sleeve was suspiciously damp. He hauled himself to his feet and ran around the car, squinting to see through the smoke which was quickly dissipating. Ivan was dragging himself into a sitting position, surrounded by shrapnel. 

“He went into the warehouse.” Ivan muttered. His shoes crunched on glass as Alfred helped him to his feet. 

“I’ll take the back entrance. Flush him out of whatever hole he’s hiding in and I’ll take him down.” Ivan shook debris off his scarf. “Still have your gun?” 

"What do you take me for, an amateur?” Alfred replied with a grin. He nodded to Ivan, and walked towards the dark warehouse. 

* * *

Silence enveloped the building like a suffocating blanket. Alfred carefully shuffled up to the warehouse’s door and found it open. He slipped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. From the blackness, fuzzy smudges appeared. Boxes and pallets were stacked high around him. Alfred clutched his gun tightly, then cringed as his arm brushed against a crate. He didn’t dare waste time by checking his wound, but he could feel blood running in intertwined rivulets down his hand. 

_Clang!_ Alfred instantly rolled behind a crate and glanced around for the source of the noise. The scent of blood and sweat was everywhere. There. A movement, ever so subtle. He crept closer to the figure. Before he could shoot at it, it moved behind a crate. _Bang!_ A bullet hit god-knows-what behind him. Alfred returned fire, his bullets splintering the crate Francis hid behind. Where was Ivan? Alfred aimed his gun. Click. Oh, fun. He slowly walked backwards, hunched over to keep himself hidden behind the crate. He needed to find somewhere safe to reload. With a thump, his back hit a wall. To his sides, stacks of pallets blocked any hope of an exit. Ah. On the bright side, there was a switch beside him. He flicked it on and a dim light turned on above him. 

“You Americans never fail to amuse me.” Francis’ voice held a smirking arrogance. Alfred gently placed his gun beside him as Francis emerged from the shadows, limping slightly. One arm dangled uselessly by his side and the other held his gun, aimed at Alfred’s chest. 

“Any last words?” Francis asked. Alfred grinned. 

“Couldn’t have come sooner?” He asked. Francis frowned in confusion. 

_Bang!_

Francis’ eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. Then he fell like a sack of potatoes. Legs buckling, he crumpled to the floor. His blonde hair was now a wreath surrounding a crimson red hole in the back of his head. Ivan climbed down from the tower of crates he was perched on. 

“I’m serious, asshole - was it really too hard to shoot him before he had a gun aimed at me?” Alfred called to him, gently rolling up his blood-covered sleeve. His arm was covered in grazes and cuts, gravel intermingling with blood. 

“It caused, how is it said… Dramatic effect.” Ivan jumped from a crate to the ground. “How was I supposed to shoot at him when I couldn’t see him?” 

“Get closer?” Alfred suggested. He examined Francis’ corpse, and gently tugged a photograph out of his suit’s pocket. It was of a blonde woman standing outside a building. Was this woman Kirkland? Alfred slipped it into his own pocket. 

“Well, he’s dead now, so it doesn’t matter. Cheer up, cowboy, we’re going to Venice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! A quick, slightly murderous question - if someone is shot in the back of the head, would the bullet come out of the forehead or become lodged in the brain? (I'm not sure how I'll feel if anyone actually knows the answer... But please tell me if you do! I want to write the event accurately but I don't dare look it up :x )


	6. Have you heard?

Planes were abominable. Out of everything in the world - snakes, bombs, the fear of inevitable death - planes were the worst hell Alfred could ever think of. Obviously he had to save face by playing off his stomach convulsions, but the only thing he wanted to do was forcefully vomit on the floor. Instead, he busied himself with finding a seat. Passing a wealthy businessman, he bumped into him.

“So sorry, excuse me.” He smoothly slipped off the man’s watch and put it in his pocket. Finally he found two seats and ushered Ivan into the window seat; being on the seat closest to the stewardess meant more access to scotch - his guilty pleasure when flying. He sat down and sighed, faintly dizzy. 

“Postcard?” The stewardess was plastically beautiful, with a beret perched on top of frankly hideous hair.

“Thank you.” Alfred was given a postcard displaying a slightly grimy black and white picture of the plane he was in, with ‘wish you were here!’ in bubbly writing. Alfred attempted to not retch. He glanced at Ivan, who was staring out the window with a vacant expression. Alfred reached into his pocket and slid the photo he’d taken from Francis in front of the postcard, so that anyone who looked at him would simply think he was contemplating on what to write, instead of staring at a bloodstained photograph. He scrutinised the photograph.

The woman was pretty, certainly. Her features were slightly angular and a slight smirk rested under a button nose. Her hair was blonde and straight, covering her face slightly. Beside her was a man whose face was obscured by dried blood. Alfred guessed it was Francis given the intimacy of the two figures. Behind the two was a sign in the distance that read ‘Carriedo’. Unable to scrutinise the image any further, he reluctantly put the photo back in his pocket. He hadn’t shown it to Ivan yet - should he? They were partners, but then, Ivan was a commie. Did he trust Ivan enough to give him all their information?

“Would you like a drink, sir?” A woman’s voice snapped Alfred back to reality. Ignoring his stomach’s pleas for him to puke, he smiled up at the stewardess.

“Scotch, please.”

* * *

Venice was noisy. Very noisy. Alfred felt queasy from the plane trip and his more than slight drinking, and the unsettling warmth wasn’t helping. Finally being able to collapse into their hotel room was a welcome experience. Alfred instantly sank into the room’s velvety red chaise longue and let out a sigh of relief.

“I hate planes.” He murmured. Ivan pushed his large suitcase under his bed (thankfully this time the hotel room had two beds) and sat down on top of the plush blankets.

“You look worse for wear, Jones.” He remarked. Alfred glared at his cool gaze.

“I have no goddamn idea how you wear that scarf all the time.” He grumbled, tugging at his own shit collar. He glanced around the hotel room. Warm yellow tones were the patron colour of the room, adorned with paintings of sunflowers and the canals. Outside the large windows, Alfred could see other brightly coloured buildings, and the pastel pink sky overhead.

“Without it, my head would fall off.” Ivan replied. Alfred squinted at him.

“Was that a joke? Careful, you’re not used to them, you might hurt yourself.” He said, then sighed again. 

“I know we should be searching around Venice for our elusive miss Kirkland, but… God, I just need a drink. Is there any alcohol in this building?” He looked around the room in vain for a drink. Ivan raised an eyebrow.

“We’re in Italy, and you think there’s a chance of there not being alcohol?”

* * *

_“Have you heard of their wedding day?_  
_Rumors come and go,_  
_Still I'd like to know,  
_ _If it's true won't you tell me!”_

Alfred droned along to the crackly song on the record player. It was dark outside, but the room was warm and filled with yellow light. Ivan tried to ignore the (atrocious attempt at) singing, instead focusing on the chessboard in front of him. The day had been long and the last thing he needed was a drunk American waking up the whole of Italy.

 _“Have you heeeeaaarrrd?”_ Alfred raised a glass of wine, then drank the dark liquid dramatically. Ivan moved a knight. Why had he been forced to partner up with agent Jones in the first place? What was Kirkland doing right now? Was she aware of Bonnefoy’s death? So many unanswered questions. His finger tapped the table. 

“ _Iiiiiiiivan_ , have a drink with me, instead of playing chess.” Alfred’s voice crooned. 

“No thank you. I don’t drink.” Ivan replied. He heard Alfred get to his feet.

“Then dance with me.” Alfred demanded. Ivan didn’t look up from his chess.

“No thank you. I don’t dance.” He replied.

“Don’t drink, don’t dance - what do you do? Scowl?” Alfred wandered over to the record player and turned up the sound. A new song was playing, a peppy Spanish pop song. Ivan tapped harder on the table. 

“Turn that down.” He growled. He could almost feel Alfred’s lopsided, drunken grin behind him.

“Only if you dance.” Alfred said. Ivan closed his eyes in exasperation. He stood up and walked over to Alfred, who was leaning on the record player and looking like he’d fall over any second.

“That’s more like it, big fella.” Alfred said with a wink. He leaned forward and nearly fell over, but Ivan quickly caught him.

“You should lie down.” Ivan started to shepherd Alfred towards a bed. Instead of obediently following Ivan, Alfred planted his feet firmly on the ground and held Ivan’s shoulder and hand. The sudden physical contact startled Ivan and he flinched slightly. Alfred started to dance, little steps that went round and round in circles and made Ivan dizzy. Alfred clearly had no intention of stopping, his head vigorously bobbing to the beat of the music.

“Stop - stop it. You’re tired and drunk. You’re going to hurt yourself -” Before Ivan could even finish his sentence Alfred pulled him across the room, spinning and grinning like there was no tomorrow. Unfortunately he didn’t notice the bed behind him, and halfway through a spin Ivan collided with the side. He fell on the bed and Alfred landed on top of him, still blearily smiling. Ivan froze, stunned by their close proximity. Alfred’s breath mingled with his, their hands still intertwined. Slowly Alfred’s lips moved towards his. Ivan closed his eyes. Then Alfred slowly slumped sideways, and let out a faint snore. Ivan exhaled, embarrassed and conflicted. Gently he pushed Alfred off him and sat next to his snoring form in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	7. Carriedo Chaos

The strong smell of salt and herbs carried on the eastern wind surrounded Alfred, making his nose twitch involuntarily. Despite it still being the morning, hot sun beat down on him from above. Sparkling water and glistening cobblestone blinded him from below. Seagulls circling above occasionally cawed and graced a pedestrian with a head of bird poo. Although Italy was not too far different from France, which he would gladly visit, Alfred decided that he disliked Venice intensely.

“If we don’t find Alice soon and get the hell out of here, I’m going to kill someone, possibly myself.” He grumbled, fanning himself with a restaurant pamphlet he’d picked up from the hotel reception.

“By the way, I found those bugs you put in my clothes when I was dressing this morning. I’d appreciate if you didn’t do that.” He continued.

“Mm.” Ivan grunted a reply. Somehow he was still wearing his scarf - Alfred was beginning to wonder whether Ivan had a sense of temperature - and seemed detached from their leisurely walk through the thin Venice street, with the canal beside them. Alfred chalked it up to jet lag; so the commie wasn’t as invulnerable as he looked. 

“Ivan, have a look at this photograph. I picked it up from Francis when we paid him a visit.” Alfred pulled the woman’s photo from his pocket and handed it to Ivan. He scrutinised it, then frowned at Alfred.

“Why didn’t you show this to me earlier?” He demanded.

“What, earlier when we were both covered in our own blood, or when I was half dead from the plane ride, or when I was smashed? I haven’t had a chance!” Ivan looked away, looked back at Alfred with a deflated ‘humph’ and handed him back the photo.

“Even though we now know the face of either Kirkland or an associate, we have no way of being sure that they’re even in Venice. We’ve hit a dead end…” Alfred complained, jamming his hands into his trouser pockets. 

“No new evidence has come up from our higher-uppers and now we’re in Venice, slowly roasting in the sun while Kirkland gets further ahead in whatever insidious plan she’s -” Alfred paused mid-sentence. He took the picture back out of his pocket. As he inspected it a grin slowly spread across his face.

“Ivan, look - that sign, ‘Carriedo’. It must be for a shop, or warehouse or something. It might have something to do with the woman in the photograph. I mean, it might be totally unrelated, but it’s all we’ve got.” Alfred finished. Ivan blinked, then nodded. Slightly deflated by his lack of expression, Alfred kept smiling nonetheless. He noticed a cafe around the corner and felt his stomach gurgle.

“We’ll search for it later - I want to get some food first.” 

“I agree. I could use some vodka, too...”

“It’s nine in the morning!”

“Vodka with toast.”

* * *

Breakfast was a somewhat awkward affair, what with Ivan being even quieter and more distant than usual. If Ivan didn’t shake off his jet lag soon, Alfred was pretty sure he would spontaneously combust from awkwardness. Fortunately they were searching for whatever (and wherever) Carriedo was in different places; Alfred on the streets searching by foot, and Ivan at the hotel sifting through phone books. Although he had yet to see any signs proclaiming ‘Carriedo’, he’d finally found a Venetian activity he somewhat enjoyed. He sighed contentedly as the gondola lazily drifted through the aquamarine water, shaded from the sun by colourful buildings.

 _“Dove vuoi andare?”_ The Gondolier asked him, gently pushing the Gondola forward with his single oar. Alfred smiled and nodded, hoping his lack of speaking Italian wouldn't be noticed. The Gondolier gave him a thinly veiled ‘if I wasn’t being paid for this I’d tip you off the side’ look.

“Sir, where would you like to go?”

“Ah, um, the Aqua Palace hotel, please.” Alfred tried not to burn with embarrassment. Instead he diverted his thoughts to his next move. 

He hadn’t seen anywhere with ‘Carriedo’ displayed, nor had he met anybody that knew about it. At least now he knew it wasn’t a largely known store or building, which made it more likely for it to be a homestead. He’d make sure to tell Ivan when he got back. What was up with Ivan, anyway? He hadn’t looked ill last afternoon, nor did he have a hangover like Alfred had been cursed with early in the morning. Maybe he was suffering from sunstroke. That would be unsurprising given his stubborn scarf wearing. Satisfied at his reasoning, Alfred cast the thought out of his mind and instead thought about what he wanted for lunch.

* * *

“Hey, Ivan! I’m thinking either seafood or pizza for lunch. Do you have any allergies?” Alfred pushed open the hotel room door, then froze. The floor was a sea of paper and maps of Venice, scribbled notes written in between constellations of black dots and arrows. Ivan sat in the middle of the paper ocean, consulting a guidebook.

“Um. Are you having a nervous breakdown?” Alfred asked hesitantly. He carefully tiptoed through the paper and slouched down on his bed.

“Don’t insult me, Cowboy. There are many Carriedos in the Veneto region so I mapped out where they live.” Ivan mumbled. Alfred whistled, impressed. 

“Only three live in Venice and only one owns an exporting business involving warehouses. I have determined he is the one most likely to own whatever building we saw in the photograph. His name is Antonio Fernández Carriedo, and lucky us, he only lives ten minutes away.” Ivan put down the guidebook and looked up at Alfred.

“I propose that we go to his house and have a, what is it in English… a stakeout. To see if Kirkland goes in or out.” He continued. Alfred considered for a moment before answering.

“If she doesn’t, we’ve wasted a precious day on a wild goose chase. But if she does, we can finally track her down and get back those documents.” Alfred grinned at the thought of Toris begrudgingly complimenting him on finishing the mission so fast.

“Alright, let’s do it! After pizza though, I’m starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dove vuoi andare? = where do you want to go?
> 
> If this Italian is incorrect please tell me!


	8. Girl in the Orange Dress

“Tell me again why you thought this was a good idea...” Alfred grumbled. Wedged between the bored American and a wall on the roof of a boat garage, Ivan readjusted his position on the warm concrete and swore as his foot curled into an agonising cramp. A sniper rifle was positioned on the roof in a precarious manner as he squinted through the scope.

“She will come soon. I am sure of it.” Ivan murmured in reply. Alfred swore under his breath and Ivan wriggled his toes, trying to relieve some of the pain. The narrow house they were watching was quite nondescript - painted a pleasing pastel blue, its many windowsills were adorned with purple flowers. For three hours now the two had watched the house with no success.

“Hey Ivan, you want to hear a joke?” A mischievous smile grew on Alfred’s face.

“No.”

“Did you hear about the Italian chef? He _pasta_ way!”

“I could shoot you with this sniper rifle right now if I wanted to, Cowboy.” Ivan grumbled.

“Whatever, don’t get your pink knickers in a twist.” Alfred replied. Ivan’s eye twitched and he turned to face him, prepared to give him a piece of his mind. Suddenly Ivan was acutely aware of the small space between them. He could see every detail of Alfred’s face - the dusting of freckles on his nose, his cerulean eyes brighter than the sky. Ivan felt his cheeks heating up and quickly looked back at the scope.

“Shut up and-” His insults were interrupted by the house’s door opening. A brown-haired woman in an orange summer dress sauntered through, surveyed her surroundings through large sunglasses, then started to walk through the street. 

“Cowboy, look. She may be Kirkland.” He gestured to the woman and let Alfred peer through the scope. As he did, Ivan remarked Alfred’s hair glowing a warm gold in the sun.

“Maybe. I’ll go tail her.” Alfred said hurriedly in a clear attempt to escape the stakeout. Ivan fought against the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’ve got my walkie talkie on me, if I find anything I’ll call you.” Alfred patted his jacket’s pocket, winked at Ivan, and jogged to the other side of the boat garage.

“Don’t kill anybody without me!” Alfred cooed, then scrambled off the side of the building, leaving Ivan to watch the house and reflect on the events of only a few moments ago.

* * *

Alfred’s shoes gently clicked with each step, the cobblestone paving of the alleyway shining underfoot. Thank god for that chick leaving the house - one minute longer on that hellhole of a roof would have made him insane. Instead he rejoiced in the ability to stretch his legs, even if it was still in the burning sun. Now, where had that girl gone? Alfred strolled out of the alley and melted into the bustling crowd of the connecting pathway, keeping a sharp eye out for a woman robed in orange. 

“ _Me scoosy, me scoosy._ ” He halfheartedly apologised as he shouldered meandering tourists out of his way - now he understood why they’d kept to the side streets. Even getting a canal ride had been easier than this! Wait - was that flash of orange what he was looking for? He quickened his pace but the sliver of colour was lost again in the crowd.

“ _Scoosy!_ ” In a last-ditch effort, Alfred cleaved right between two lovebirds holding hands, and found the woman from the house entering a small cafe. Before she entered he caught a glimpse of brown, curly hair and white high heels. Finally out of the swarm of tourists, Alfred took his wallet from his pocket and rifled through it. Damn, he’d blown all his money on Pizza; the rest was back at the hotel under Ivan’s supervision (this was after Ivan discovered the wine Alfred bought last night had cost over ₤90,000). He’d just have to borrow some, then.

“ _Scoosy - oof_ , I’m so sorry.” Alfred bumbled into a flustered tourist in a gaudy shirt and neatly slipped the man’s wallet into his own pocket. A few more apologetic utterances later and Alfred was two hundred thousand lire richer. He considered what Ivan would do if he talked to the woman. Yell at him? Yes. Murder him? Possibly. He quickly made up his mind. Time to buy a lady a coffee.

Ring! A small bell jingled when Alfred entered the cafe. He was instantly hit by the heavy smell of smoke and incense, wrapping around him and muffling him like a blanket. The place was clearly a little shabby, with a few too many dark corners housing dusty cobwebs. How a store like this got any customers was anyone’s guess, but sure enough there were a few people seated at tables with assorted beverages and delicacies. The woman in the orange dress was nowhere to be seen.

“Excuse me, can I get an Americano?” Alfred asked the barista with a grin. The gruff, unshaven man behind the counter nodded slightly and began to shuffle around a severely beat-up coffee grinder. 

“You are a tourist? How are you liking Venice so far, sir?” The barista asked in a heavy Italian accent.

“It’s a beautiful city. I’m pretty sure my partner likes it more than me, though - he’s done quite a bit of research on this place.” Alfred replied. The barista raised a grey eyebrow. 

“Sir, there is a free table for you through there. If you would wait there I will bring you your coffee.” He said with a pointed look. Alfred raised his eyebrows in confusion, but turned to look where the man gestured. Sure enough, there was a door hidden around a corner that presumably led to the rest of the cafe. 

“Um, thank you.” He said, tipped an imaginary hat, then walked towards the door. With a creak it opened to reveal a dark corridor. He turned to give the barista a questioning glance - the man nodded his head knowingly. Whatever silent exchange was going on between the two, Alfred had no idea what it meant.

The corridor was small but smelled quite suspiciously of mould. At the end was an archway leading into a more brightly lit seating area. Alfred was tempted to call Ivan on the walkie talkie but decided against it. Instead, he strided into the room. It looked much like the front of the cafe - dingy and cobwebbed. This room, however, was fairly big, and quite a few people were lounging about. However, something was definitely…. Off. Alfred couldn’t quite put his finger on it as he searched for a table and the woman in the orange dress. He quickly located a free table and put his mind at work trying to figure out quite what was wrong with the room he was in.

Men sat mostly in pairs smoking or drinking, while women (also in pairs) tended to be talking. A few men glanced at Alfred, some of their stares lasting a very long time. What was this, a mafia headquarters? Had he accidentally given a secret code when he ordered his coffee? He frantically replayed his conversation with the barista in his head - oh. Ohhhh. Now he understood. Standing up slowly, he strolled to the door marked as the men’s toilet. He slipped inside, holed himself up in a stand, and pulled out his walkie talkie.

“Ivan, For the love of god, come right away to the ‘Sunset cafe’ on Calle Fiubera. Yes, this is more important than you watching an empty building. I followed the lady into a gay cafe and I think the guys are checking me out - I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡0 ͜ʖ ͡0)
> 
> 'Me Scoosy' is Alfred's attempts at saying 'Mi Scusi', meaning 'pardon me'.
> 
> For any of you confused about Alfred buying wine costing more than ₤90,000, don't panic! The currency in Italy before 1999 was the Lira. 1 NZD equals 1221.98 Lira (including this because I used New Zealand costs of wine in research), and 1 USD equals 1709.66 Lira. So 90,000 Lira only amounts to about $52 USD. He stole about $116 USD from the tourist. That's some crazy inflation!
> 
> (Note that this is USD and NZD as they are today, not in the 1960s. I'm not that dedicated to accuracy.)


	9. Not so straight to the point

Ivan was no less than mortified when he received Alfred’s message. Now, as he marched through the streets in search of the Sunset Cafe, he silently fumed at Alfred’s hopelessness. If he was one of the United State’s best agents, then the USA’s secret service must be in shambles. How couldn’t he even keep tabs on one woman without help? He was still angry when he found the cafe and stormed into the entrance. 

“Flat white. I’d like to be seated in the back.” Ivan gave the barista a pointed look which may have come across as a glare - nonetheless he was quickly shown the door to the back room. 

As soon as he entered the room, he noticed the… extreme closeness of some of the people in the room. Public etiquette had clearly been thrown out of the window in this room, where at least two pairs of men were passionately french kissing in a corner. It made Ivan feel ill - such public acts of indecency would get yourself killed in his homeland.

“Ivan!” He turned to see Alfred beckoning to him from across the room. Instantly Ivan spotted the vibrant orange of the woman’s dress; she was sitting only a few metres away from Alfred. Opposite her was a blonde woman in a blue dress, strikingly similar to the woman in Francis’ photograph. Ivan quickly navigated through the tables to sit down next to him.

“Alfred, why -” Ivan’s angry hiss was broken off by Alfred’s lips sliding against his, then pressing against them. His eyes widened, then closed. Stay calm. This is just part of the act. Despite these reassurances, his heart beat like a wild drum and he felt a strange pang in his chest. Alfred pulled away slightly and moved to talk into Ivan’s ear.

“I’m going to get them to talk to us.” He murmured. Ivan nodded slightly, then drew away. He could feel the tips of his ears warm up as he watched Alfred calmly take a sip of coffee. It seemed Alfred had left his heterosexuality _and_ dignity at the door.

“I thought you’d never arrive!” Alfred commented loudly.

“I’m sorry, I got lost.” Ivan replied. Alfred nodded, then shot a sly glance at the two women.

“I told you we’d look for the jewellery showcase together - you know you always get lost.” He said in an affectionate voice. This comment earned a turned head from the woman in the orange dress, who said something to the other girl then turned to face Ivan and Alfred.

“Excuse me, you’re looking for a jewellery showcase? The Bugari showcase, si?” She asked in a silky voice laced with a spanish accent. Alfred nodded and smiled.

“As a matter of fact I am. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is? My partner Ivan and I couldn’t find even a poster about it! I was so sure it was today...” Ivan was impressed at how calm Alfred was when he was barely a metre away from the blonde in the picture. Her sharp green eyes were watching Alfred with a cool curiousity. 

“I’m afraid you have the wrong date. It’s tomorrow at Campiello Gorne, 2 o’clock. How coincidental - Penny and I are going to the showcase as well; my brother handles shipment of Bugari stock.” Alfred went through a face journey of emotions as the lady talked, clearly appearing intensely interested. Suddenly his face lit up and he broke into a massive grin.

“Ladies, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot to introduce myself. Alfred F. Jones, pleased to make your acquaintance. This is my partner Ivan Braginsky.” Why was he telling them their real names? Ivan shook hands with the two women and resisted the urge to kick Alfred’s leg.

“Isabel Carriedo.” The orange-robed woman shook his hand first. Isabel’s handshake was firm and almost aggressive.

“Penny Austin.” Penny’s - Alice’s? - handshake was elegant and almost pensive. Her unsettling eyes bored into Ivan until he withdrew his hand, leaving him feeling disconcerted. 

“Well, it’s been wonderful meeting you, Alfred, Ivan, but I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule today.” Penny spoke for the first time in a politely apologetic tone.

“Of course, of course. I hope we’ll see you ladies at the showcase tomorrow - maybe you can help us pick some watches?” Alfred had turned on the charm full blast, and even kissed Isabel and Penny’s hand before they made their exit. Ivan held Penny’s gaze until she and Isabel were out of view, then he took a long sip of his coffee.

“You told them our real names.”

“Really? I don’t remember.”

“We’re secret agents, Cowboy. Notice the ‘secret’ part of that sentence?”

“Calm down, baby. I’m just giving them some respect, agent to agent.” Alfred was far too American - carefree and confident to the point of naivety.

“Call me ‘baby’ one more time and I’ll ensure that you don’t leave this room with all four limbs intact.” Ivan responded. They sat making idle conversation for a few minutes to ensure that Isabel and Penny had left, then Ivan stood up. Impulse pushed him forward and he found himself laying a kiss on Alfred’s forehead before standing up fully.

“Come on, we’ll be late.” 

* * *

Alfred strolled confidently down the street with a grouchy Ivan in tow as he consulted his large map of Venice. The shadows were starting to creep a little longer and the sky was tinged with the first traces of pink and yellow.

“That whole encounter was a risk and you just took even more risks! Did you never learn to think before you act? How did you even know there was a Jewellery showcase?” Ivan demanded.

“Ivan, please - we’re in Italy.” Alfred responded with perhaps a little too much hubris.

“By the way, was that last kiss really necessary? Getting a bit touchy-feely are we?” Alfred teased with a laugh. Ivan was silent in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not uploading for ages - I was off in New Caledonia basking in the sun! 
> 
> Small note - Bugari is an Italian brand of jewellery that's been around since 1881. Also, Campiello Gorne is a real place in Italy, but it's actually just a pretty average looking road ;ouo I'll have to use some artistic license on this one!


	10. Diamonds are a girl's best friend

Despite the blistering heat, Alfred was carefully arranging a tie to go with his far too fancy suit. It was already making his arms itch, which was never a good sign. He admired himself in the bathroom’s mirror, then stepped out into the hotel’s main bedroom. Ivan was standing next to his bed, adjusting a bowtie. He wasn’t dressed as nicely as Alfred but still looked overdressed for the weather - although, for once, he wasn’t wearing his scarf. Alfred could see a hint of a scar hiding behind Ivan’s collar. He glanced at Ivan’s bow tie, then looked at his outfit in disdain.

“Your bow tie doesn’t match your suit.” He commented.

“It doesn’t have to match.” Ivan snapped back. Alfred raised an eyebrow, then scratched his elbow uncomfortably.

“This had better be worth it. I spent three hours last night researching the Carriedo business - which, by the way, is incredibly shady - and jewellery brands that sound like pasta types.” Alfred complained. Ivan finished trying to fix his bowtie and instead began to walk towards the door. Suddenly the phone rang, almost making Alfred jump out of his skin. Ivan and Alfred both lunged for it but Alfred reached the telephone first, plucking it from the table and holding it to his ear.

“Eeeeeyello?”

“Dammit, Jones, get your ass into gear.” Toris’s voice was beyond annoyed.

“While you and your Russian friend have been wasting time, an American nuclear physicist has been kidnapped, along with extremely dangerous missile parts. If he doesn’t make it back alive there’ll be hell to pay.” 

“Yes, sir. We have a lead right now - I guarantee by midnight I’ll have results.” Alfred promised. Ivan raised an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm. Well, we’re late for a jewellery showcase, so I - sir, please don’t yell so much, it’s bad for your blood pressure - right, understood.” Alfred winced as he handed the phone to Ivan. The instant Ivan uttered a single syllable into the receiver, a barrage of furious Russian blasted out of the telephone. Alfred watched in amusement as Ivan clearly tried to placate his superior in frantic Russian, only to be yelled at more. Finally the attack was over and Ivan slowly placed the receiver down.

“We need to get moving.” Alfred said in a matter-of-fact voice. Ivan glared at him.

“Change of plans. I will take photographs of Carriedo, Austin and their affiliates to check for traces of radiation while you get the two to trust you.” Ivan said. He rummaged around in his suitcase and pulled out a remarkably small camera.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Alfred had a large knowledge of jewellery. Years of theft had taught him which brands were worth more than others, what cut of a gem was best, how to tell real from fake. Now, as he walked through the display, he felt at home snaking his way between fat businessmen and lavishly draped women towards the establishment. As he passed by one of the slightly leaner businessmen, he bumped into him and deftly slipped the man’s ticket into his own pocket.

“So sorry, excuse me.” Alfred said quickly, melting back into the opulent crowd. He wondered how Ivan would steal a ticket. They’d agreed to enter from different sides to search for Miss Carriedo more efficiently. Kill a man and stuff him in a cupboard? Alfred marveled at how ridiculous their situation had become. Of all the things he’d planned to do in his life, posing as a homosexual couple with a Russian wasn’t on the list. Although, if he had to pick a guy, Ivan certainly wasn’t half bad. 

Whether it was because of the heat or the extraordinary events of the previous day, by the time he was inside the extravagant showcase building, his mind had thoroughly wandered. What did Ivan think of him? Alfred had never been the best at reading the atmosphere, and Braginsky was a hell of a hard case. Perhaps Ivan had taken a disliking to him after he’d pulled him into that cafe. That would be a shame, because Alfred was finding himself getting somewhat attached to the hulking Russian.

“Mr. Jones?” A feminine voice made Alfred turn around to see Isabel in a flattering blue dress, laden with jewellery.

“Ah, Miss Carriedo. I was just looking for you.” Alfred smiled, taking her arm.

“What lovely diamonds you’re wearing.”

* * *

Ivan’s mind was running all over the place, back and forth across the mission, his current situation, Alfred. Yesterday had been a rush of incomprehensible emotions and Ivan was sick of all of it. He needed to be professional. Feelings are weaknesses, and the weak have no place in this world. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand his thoughts, he shouldn’t even be thinking about them! But yet they lingered, obstructing his ability to do his job and causing a huge amount of stress.

Unbeknownst to him, Ivan had been emanating a deathly glare, and only now did he notice the arc of people avoiding him. Scooping up his camera he hastily walked to the nearest glass cabinet of necklaces and took photographs of them, inconspicuously searching the crowd for Miss Carriedo.

“Ivan. Ivan!” Ivan turned as he heard Alfred’s voice. He saw him walking with Miss Carriedo, her satin robes flowing behind her.

“Alfred, Miss Carriedo. I’ve been searching for you.” Ivan tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace.

“Would it be alright if I took some photos of you and Miss Austin with the Jewellery? I am an amateur photographer.” He asked politely. Miss Carriedo’s kohl-lidded eyes slid towards the camera he held, then back up at his face with a languid smile.

“Of course! You’ll have to excuse me, dear Penny went to look at the Givenchy collection.” Isabel excused herself gracefully and Alfred and Ivan were left standing awkwardly next to a meticulously pruned bonsai tree.

“How did you get a ticket?” Alfred murmured with a smirk on his face.

“Punched a man in the men’s bathroom.” Ivan responded. To be honest, it had been cathartic. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

“You know, you’ve been kind of off your game recently. Not that I didn’t expect you to punch a dude in the men’s - but, you know, you’ve been weird lately.” He commented. Ivan swallowed, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s nothing. Sunstroke.” Ivan muttered.

“Whatever you say, Buckeroo.” Alfred responded with obvious doubt. Ivan felt his heart sink. If only he could describe to Alfred what he was feeling - no. Never. He wasn’t feeling anything. He wasn’t… He wasn’t… 

His mind refused to finish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, this chapter was hard to write! I'm glad I finally powered through it :3c
> 
> Givenchy, like Bugari, is an actual jewellery brand, and they still make bags, perfumes and jewellery today!


	11. Sneaky scouting

“Constipation?”

“Stop it.”

“Escape via sewerage?”

“Let me work.” The conversation had been going on for some time, prompted by Ivan instantly holing himself up in the bathroom when the two returned from the showcase. Hot, sweaty and tired, all Alfred wanted to do was have a bath, so had decided to badger Ivan until he finally came out.

“You and the sink, love at first sight.” Alfred had barely finished his most outlandish suggestion when Ivan burst out of the bathroom, flooding the hotel room with red light. He handed Alfred two large photographs and pointed at one of them.

“Look - on Isabel’s hand. The bracelet has green traces on it. She’s been around something radioactive recently.” Ivan muttered. Sure enough, there was a smudge of green on the grainy mauve photograph.

“A missile, perhaps?” Alfred suggested. Ivan nodded darkly. Alfred considered this for a moment. Ivan was clearly off his game for some reason; it would be best to scout out Isabel’s warehouse alone, and let Ivan rest. 

“I think I’ll sleep on it.” He replied cheerfully, which earned him an incredulous look from Ivan.

“Get some rest, big fella. We’ll sort it out in the morning, but right now I think I’m going to order more of those little chocolates from reception, and then get some fine dining.” Alfred said. Another sharp look from Ivan made Alfred scoot out the door as fast as possible. He adjusted his tie, and smoothed back his hair. Checking out the warehouse would be a cinch.

* * *

His quick escape from the hotel room hadn’t allowed him time to pick up a jacket, and Alfred was quickly discovering how quickly night fell in Italy. A cold breeze was chilling him to the bone as he drove up to the warehouse on a ‘borrowed’ motorbike. Illuminated by huge lights, the warehouse was next to the ocean and surrounded by a wire fence. Inside the fence was a small concrete courtyard, and patrolling guards. For the jewellery, or for something else? He crept up to the fence and crouched, taking out his wire clippers.

“Fuck.” Alfred grumbled as his cold hands fumbled with the clippers. Slowly he started the task of cutting the wires - Fwooom. With a shuddering groan, the lights went out. Alfred stood in silence for a moment, wondering what had happened. Why - ah. Alfred turned and died a little inside as he saw, barely a few metres away, Ivan squatting down beside the fence. So he’d had the same idea, and even taken the time to turn out the lights.

“Um. Ivan.” Alfred hissed, and his partner jumped.

“Alfred? I thought -” Ivan started to protest, then saw the irony. With a drawn-out sigh, he motioned to Alfred’s motorbike.

“Go back. I can handle this.” He ordered. Alfred grinned.

“And miss out on the fun? I don’t think so.” He returned to clipping at the fence, and Ivan snorted. The Russian took out an odd, hair-dryer like instrument and flicked a switch. It started to light up like an ember, and with a single flick of his wrist he’d already cut a hole big enough for the two to get through.

“Very advanced technology you have, cowboy.” Ivan commented, audibly smirking. Alfred grumbled under his breath but slipped through the hole after Ivan.

Inside the fence, the guards were on high alert. There was a door near to them, but they’d only have a small window of opportunity to unlock it before the patrol passed by. They quickly scurried to it and Ivan set to work using another ridiculous looking implement. _Click. Click. Click._

“Let me do it.” Alfred hissed. The patrol walked closer.

“I almost have it.” Ivan responded in a frustrated whisper. _Click. Click. Click._

“Move aside, Peril.” Ivan begrudgingly moved and Alfred quickly took a hairpin out of his pocket. In a matter of seconds he pried the door open, and they hurried inside just before the patrol passed. They were in the lower level; above them, the warehouse continued to another floor. Around them were crates and machines that seemed to be used for moving them.

“I’ll take the top, you take the bottom.” Alfred whispered, and Ivan nodded. Above them, the lights flickered on.

The warehouse had an atmosphere that made the hairs on the back of Alfred’s neck stand up. Slowly he walked up the metal staircase, listening for the footsteps of guards. They seemed to be having dinner, because he could hear faint laughing and plates clattering. The upper floor was washed white by powerful lights, and filled with strange machines. Some of them seemed to be dismantled, lying in large pieces on the floor. Before they’d split paths, Ivan had given him a radiation detector, which was on a steady zero. 

“Come on, come on.” Alfred pointed the detector at another oddly shaped contraption. Zero. He turned a corner and found himself in a large room with a closed safe. Perfect - but he’d need Ivan’s tools to crack open this one. He checked his detector and found with glee that it was creeping up the scale the closer he got to the safe. He sneaked as quickly as possible back through the top floor and down the stairs. 

“Ivan?” He whispered, glancing up and down the room. All he could see were crates on every side of him. He started to wander through them, checking every so often to see if there was anyone behind him. 

“Iva-” Alfred’s second call was cut short as he turned a corner. Face to face with him was the barrel of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, this chapter didn't quite reach 1000 words! Sorry about that ^0^
> 
> Just a note - the reason Alfred calls Ivan 'Peril' in this chapter is because 'red peril' refers to the fear of communism that people had back during the cold war.


	12. Take a bullet for you

“Alfred.” Ivan let out a sigh as he drew back his gun. Alfred raised his eyebrows and leant against a close by crate.

“Find anything?” He asked, glancing around.

“No.” Ivan replied. Alfred grinned.

“Perfect, because I need you upstairs. There’s a safe that I can crack - but I need some equipment.” He said. Ivan nodded and pulled a small widget from his jacket pocket. He held it out for Alfred to see.

“Mmm, well, it’s a bit small, but I suppose it’ll do.” Alfred said in mock-disappointment. He took the gadget from Ivan and started to walk back towards the staircase. Ivan followed him, watching their back; although he hadn’t heard any guards, he had a bad feeling in his gut.

Upstairs, there still weren’t any guards. The safe room was grey and empty save for the one wall which was taken up by the massive grey door. While Ivan stood nearby, Alfred got to work on the lock, pressing the widget Ivan had given to him against the centre wheel.

“Now, as you can see, this is a Swiss T-5005. One of the most impenetrable vaults in the world. The door’s two feet thick and the walls are made of the finest steel-reinforced concrete. There was one flaw in the design, however.” Alfred said as the listened intently to the inner mechanisms.

“And what was that.” Ivan prompted, deciding to humour him. Alfred smiled.

“The people who designed it didn’t know how to crack a safe.” As he said that, the door made a hissing noise. With a great _whoomph_ , the safe started to slide open. 

“What about the alarm?” Ivan queried. 

“The T-5005 didn’t have an alarm.” Alfred replied. 

_WEEEOOOO! WEEEOOOO!_

Ivan winced as a high-pitched wailing filled the air.

“No alarm, huh, Cowboy.” Ivan said drily. Alfred started to reply, then caught himself, accepting his embarrassing mistake with a sheepish smile. With no time to spare they both ran into the vault. Ivan’s detector was going haywire, but all the crates in the room looked the same - they’d never find the right one in time. It was then that Ivan saw the black cylinder lying on top of a crate. He scooped it up and the two ran out of the vault.

“Stop right there!” A voice roared from somewhere behind them. Ivan pulled out his gun and shot at where the voice had come from, the bullets zinging off the metal floor. They ran to the stairs, but there were already guards in dark outfits running up them. With nowhere else to go, the two bolted up more stairs and found themselves on a rickety platform with seemingly no escape route.

“Suicide pact? I push you off, you shoot me?” Alfred suggested, looking around for an exit. Ivan glanced at the large window the platform led to. Well, it was better than being shot.

“Follow me.” He ordered, and ran towards the window. _Smash!_ Glass flew everywhere as he threw himself through the frame, curling into a ball. He hit the pile of rope below with a thud and groaned with pain. He rolled off just in time as Alfred followed, letting out a similar moan of pain.

“I thought the ocean was down here!” He complained. Ivan looked around and realised that the two were on a wooden dock that followed the beach and went around the warehouse. Bang! A bullet ripped through the wood near Alfred and he jumped. Ivan impulsively shielded him and pushed him to his feet. The guards shot again through the broken window and the bullet plunged into Ivan’s shoulder. He winced but kept moving, staying in between Alfred and the guards as they ran down the dock towards the courtyard. The whole warehouse was on high alert and blinding spotlights had lit up the whole area. They crept along the fence until they reached the hole, slipping through just in time as a spotlight slid past the concrete where they had stood seconds ago. Alfred’s motorbike was in the light so the two ran, wet tarmac making them stumble as they ran down the road.

* * *

They only stopped when they had lost themselves in amongst the other warehouses. They ducked into a dark alleyway and Ivan staggered to an abandoned refrigerator, sitting on its upturned side. It had started to rain and the blood from his wound mingled with the water. Ivan took off his jacket and Alfred ripped a piece from his shirt, trying to quell the blood flow.

“You took a bullet for me.” Alfred murmured. Ivan, despite the pain occupying his mind, could feel his cheeks warm.

“It was nothing.” Ivan replied, gritting his teeth as another swell of pain crept through his shoulder.

“No, it wasn’t nothing.” Alfred responded with an unusual sense of seriousness. 

“Thank you.” Alfred’s words made Ivan's heart skip a beat. That strange feeling pulsed through his heart again, filling him with impulsive desire. 

As the rain continued to fall, and blood soaked through the fabric on his shoulder, Ivan leaned in and kissed Alfred. The tender embrace filled him with an emotion he didn’t understand or recognise, but felt wonderful. It only lasted a fleeting moment, then Ivan drew away with panicked eyes.

“I - I’m - I didn’t-” He stuttered, flushing scarlet. Alfred placed a finger to his lips.

“No. Don’t worry. I liked it.” He said with a small smile. Then he gently lifted the blood soaked cloth.

“As much as I’d love to do it again, I really need to patch you up.” He said in a voice that comforted Ivan’s nerves. As the two sat in the drenched alley, Ivan had never felt happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	13. Very bad decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains self-hating homophobia and mentions of acts of homophobia in 60's Russia.

In the span of a short 24 hours, Ivan’s life had been successfully turned upside down. Now, as he leant against Alfred, the two staggering back to the hotel, he could only clutch his shoulder and try to calm his frenzied thoughts as the moment of bliss quickly wore off to reveal mortified terror.

In a moment of weakness he’d succumbed to feelings no moral man should ever feel. How could he return to Russia after this mission with the knowledge that he was part of a group he had, in the past, imprisoned and killed? His chest tightened as he heard his boss’s voice. 

‘I’m disappointed, Braginsky. After all this time you turn out just like your father.’ He gripped his shoulder so tight his knuckles went white. Agonising memories clawed their way to his mind, gouging holes in his vision. He was just like his father; disgraceful, vile, worthless, worthless, _worthless_ -

“Ivan? Are you alright?” Alfred’s voice wrenched him back to reality and the pouring rain. They were back at the hotel, standing at the discreet side entrance. 

“D-da.” Ivan said breathlessly. He didn’t speak again until they were back in the hotel room. Ivan ensured the door was closed and locked, then turned to face Alfred, who had sat down on the side of his bed. Ivan’s fear had receded and been replaced by anger. An irrational voice whispered that it was Alfred’s fault, not his.

“You are going to forget what happened tonight.” He demanded. Alfred raised his eyebrows.

“I dunno, Peril, things like that tend to stick around up in there.” He replied with a teasing grin. Ivan gave him a black, angry look and Alfred showed perhaps his most genuine emotion Ivan had ever seen; surprised eyes and a weak, hurt smile.

“Sure, then. Forget what, ha ha.” Alfred said with transparent cheerfulness. Ivan watched in silence as Alfred stood up and walked to the door.

“Take some time to cool off, big guy.” He said. Ivan couldn’t look him in the eye.

* * *

Alfred wandered around the moonlit streets for half an hour thinking. Ivan’s actions were understandable - Russia was merciless where gay men were concerned - but it still hurt Alfred in a way he hadn’t experienced before. That fleeting moment had left a warm feeling in his heart, which had been swiftly snatched away by Ivan’s snarls. Now, gazing up at the twinkling stars overhead, he realised he couldn’t bear the thought of the mission finishing, never to see Ivan again. It would - wait.

Alfred’s blue eyes wandered down from the constellations to discover he was standing in front of Isabel and Penny’s house. The lights were still on and soft music was emanating from an open window. Alfred checked his watch. 11:10. An ill thought out idea was starting to form in his mind - but before he could act, the door opened and Isabel stepped out onto the street. 

“Mr. Jones?” Alfred acted on instinct and pulled out his handkerchief, dabbing at his eyes.

“O-oh, miss Carriedo, I didn’t - I -” He let out a silent, trembling sob, and Isabel instantly bundled him into the house.

“Is it Ivan?” Isabel hazarded, and Alfred nodded weakly. In no time at all he was deposited in their rustic kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of him and Isabel by his side.

“I’m so sorry for intruding at this late hour -” Alfred began, but was instantly cut off by Isabel.

“No, I understand completely. Fighting on your honeymoon is painful for anybody, and we were the only people you knew, si?” Isabel consoled. Inwardly, Alfred was counting his lucky stars. Now he’d be able to elicit a bit more information about Penny. He glanced around the room. Onions hung on strings and wooden cabinets were painted a faded orange. In small frames, photographs of Isabel and Penny were scattered about. One of them at a cafe, one on a boat (the name was half obscured, with only ‘-dema’ poking out behind their heads), yet another of them at the beach. 

“Ivan gets nervous sometimes, overthinking things until it’s bound to happen. This evening he just - oh, thank you,” Alfred gratefully accepted the sugar Isabel handed to him, heaping it into his coffee, “he got worried about returning to Russia to visit his grandmother. The laws are a lot stricter there about those who play for the other team, I’m told.” He had regained a little bit of his composure and took a long sip of the coffee. He paused for a moment after swallowing, then raised an eyebrow.

“If I were a suspicious man, I would say that coffee is laced.” He commented. Isabel smiled.

“You and Mr. Braginsky were not very discreet tonight, I’m afraid.” She said. Alfred betrayed a flash of emotion at the mention of Ivan and Isabel smirked.

“Oh, don’t worry. Mr. Braginsky will be coming, too.” Alfred’s vision was tunneling and his mouth refused to make coherent words. With his last conscious thoughts, he remarked that he really had been an idiot to come to the Carriedo house. Love, he supposed, really does make fools of us all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaa, writing this chapter hurt my heart!
> 
> Just a heads up, there has been slight editing to chapter 7 which will be important to plot later on. I apologise for only adding this now!


	14. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains torture.

_scrape, scrape, scrape_

Ivan’s eyelids snapped open. The light was still on. His back hurt; he’d fallen asleep sitting on the side of his bed. Despite his fatigue, he instantly recognised the strange noise as lockpicking. He quickly slipped into the en suite and stood next to the doorway, waiting. 

_Click. Creak._ Ivan could hear two pairs of footsteps creeping through the apartment. A figure holding a gun walked past him. He instantly grabbed him and crushed him in a choke hold. 

“ _Luigi? Cosa?_ ” The other man hissed. He suffered a similar fate, Ivan’s fist incapacitating him the instant he crept into the bathroom. Ivan pushed the two bodies into the bathtub and checked his watch. 12:43. Alfred wasn’t back yet… perhaps his anger - which he already regretted - had actually saved Alfred from potential injury. Or perhaps not.

Ivan leant against the sink, considering his options. After a moment's consideration, he went to his suitcase and rummaged inside. Above his socks and below his trousers, he pulled out the tracking device connected to the bugs he’d placed in Alfred’s clothes. He’d found most of them back when they first came to Italy, but maybe…

 _Bzzt. Bzzt._ Nothing. Ivan turned in a circle slowly, heart skipping a beat. Pick up a signal, goddamnit.

 _Bzzt. Bzzt. Beeeeeep!_ Yes! A small green dot appeared on the screen, west of him and moving rapidly away. He slipped the tracker into his pocket and rubbed sleepy eye from his eyelids. It only hit him then. He was afraid. He was afraid of his boss, of failing the mission, of liking Alfred. But in that intense, emotional instant, he decided he didn’t care. Because he was going to save his cowboy no matter what.

* * *

“Good morning, Mr. Jones.” A bright light was forcing Alfred to wake from his delightful sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, heavy eyelids fighting to stay closed. Ugh, his head hurt. He lifted his hand up - oh, no he didn’t. Something was holding his hands down. His legs were held down too. A mounting sense of panic made Alfred’s eyes open wide. He was in a dark room, sitting on what felt like a dentist’s chair. No matter how hard he tugged, he couldn’t move. A woman was leaning against the wall, smoking from a long cigarette.

“Penny?” Alfred questioned. Penny let out a breath of smoke.

“That’s Alice to you. I thought you might have worked it out by now.” She remarked. Her golden locks were curled and pinned immaculately, and she wore a modern black and white dress. In front of Alfred there was a small desk. Sitting at it, a smartly dressed man watched him with a crooked smile. Behind him, a door with a small window separated him from the rest of the world.

“I’ve been watching you, Mr. Jones,” Alice said, “and I have to say I’m impressed. Honeymooning lovers? How quaint! Of course, you didn’t cover your tracks very well when you broke into Isabel’s warehouse. And tonight? How not to be a spy 101!” She laughed.

“Anyway, I have places to be, bombs to assemble, I’m sure you understand. I’ll leave you with darling Gilbert. Pip pip cheerio.” She blew a kiss to Alfred. He raised his eyebrows and watched her leave, the door clanging shut after her. The man behind the desk, presumably Gilbert, cleared his throat. He pressed a switch on the desk and the lights dimmed, except for the blinding light just above Alfred.

“Mr. Jones, shall I tell you a story?” Gilbert looked around 60, with a shock of white hair and pasty white skin hanging off sharp bones. Red eyes shone brightly despite the wrinkles they were surrounded by. His bony hands held a scrapbook, faded and dog eared at the edges.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was ugly and malformed, and nobody wanted him.” He turned the page, revealing tattered photographs Alfred could barely see. God, he almost wished Gilbert would skip to the torture.

“All the other children bullied him relentlessly, calling him weak and stupid. What they didn’t realise was that he wasn’t hurt by their words. He was learning from their cruelty, waiting until he could turn it against them. He created beautiful machines, capable of destroying man’s will and tearing them apart limb from limb. Then, a miracle happened. A world war.” The thrill in Gilbert’s voice made Alfred involuntarily shiver. He pulled against the restraints and Gilbert cackled.

“He was free to create art! Blood was paint and the human body was the canvas. And now, I’ve just perfected my latest invention. Would you like to try it, Mr. Jones?” Gilbert pressed down on a button. 

“Aargh!” Intense pain shot through Alfred as electricity pulsed into him. He jerked violently against the restraints, a strangled cry escaping from his throat. The electricity stopped and the pain ebbed away.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Gilbert said quietly. Alfred grit his teeth. _Zap!_ Agony ripped through him again and again. He couldn’t think about anything except the white hot pain making his fingers curl. Bile was rising in his throat, smoke was rising from his clothes. Then it stopped. 

“Oh - oh, ah. Excuse me, Mr. Jones. Technical difficulties, I’m afraid.” Gilbert said apologetically. Alfred’s bloodshot eyes looked away from him in disgust, then squinted in confusion. Through the small window in the door, a large figure was watching. Then, the door opened silently.

“No matter. I’m feeling traditional today. Shall we start with, hmm,” Gilbert stroked his chin, “the pliers?”

Alfred closed his eyes and smiled slightly.

“I never imagined I would say this, but I am very glad to see you.” Alfred said. Gilbert frowned, then turned around to see Ivan towering over him.

* * *

In a matter of minutes, Alfred had been replaced by Gilbert in the electric chair. Alfred nursed his sore wrists and watched as Ivan mercilessly strapped Gilbert in.

“Please don’t hurt me, I’ll tell you everything! You won’t be able to stop me!” Gilbert babbled, laughing nervously. For such a cruel man, Alfred thought, he was amazingly pathetic. 

“Then where is Kirkland going?” Alfred demanded.

“Sant’angelo della polvere, southwest of Giudecca. That’s where the american scientist is being held.” Gilbert said quickly.

“Stay here.” Ivan growled, and he and Alfred stepped outside the room.

“How did you find me? I thought I found all the bugs you put in my stuff.”

“I believe you missed the ones in your shoes.”

“Well, thanks, I think. What do we do with him?”

“I suppose we have to be the bigger man and not torture him.” 

“I-” Alfred and Ivan turned to look into the room behind them, discovering that the chair was now working again, and Gilbert was in flames.

“Oh. That works, I suppose.” Alfred commented. Impulsively, Ivan gently kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Can you forgive me?” He asked. Alfred smiled.

“I never blamed you. But let’s talk about this later, we have a scientist to save.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this nice long chapter makes up for those short ones ^////^
> 
> Cosa = what
> 
> Just a little fun fact - sant'angelo della polvere is a real place, but it isn't very cool. It's just a seemingly abandoned building on a small island!


	15. Preparations

Alfred blinked his eyes open as the sun rose. He and Ivan were sitting next to each other on a rooftop - they sat on the building that Alfred had been tortured in just hours before. It was a grotty, abandoned military base that was slowly being reclaimed by the earth. Above them, the sky was slowly brightening to an orange hue, casting long shadows across the ground. Alfred didn’t remember going to sleep, but exhaustion must have claimed him at one point or another.

“The cylinder.” Ivan’s voice made Alfred start. “The one we found in Carriedo’s safe. It’s Uranium-235.”

“Sounds like something you make bombs out of.” Alfred replied sleepily. Ivan nodded.

“It’s a component in making nuclear missiles.” He said. Ivan started to say something else, then stopped and looked out to the horizon. They were miles away from civilisation. All around them, rolling fields swayed gently in the warm breeze.

“The car I used to get here is low on fuel, but I contacted headquarters. They’ll be here to pick us up shortly.” He continued. Alfred rubbed a heavy eyelid, then smiled as his eyes met Ivan’s.

“So… What you’re saying is, we’re going to be all on our own for a while.” He said with a wink. Ivan missed the wink and stared at him.

“Was that not obvious?” He asked. Alfred sighed in exasperation and gently held Ivan’s chin. He leant forward and their lips locked in a warm, sleepy kiss. Ivan’s lavender eyes widened, then closed happily. This time neither of them drew back. Ivan’s hand snaked up Alfred’s back, holding him close. Alfred gently trailed his hand down Ivan’s arm, feeling every muscle, every perfect mark and beautiful scar. They were together. And just for this one, crystalline moment, they were safe.

* * *

The chopper arrived half an hour later. By the time the two agents were hustled on board, Toris noted that Alfred’s hair was looking particularly messy, and his face rather flushed. There appeared to be a bruise on his neck.

“You get in a fight, agent?” He asked. Alfred grinned.

“You should see the other guy.” He replied with a wink. The Chinook’s rotors slowly started to turn, the noise quickly becoming unbearable. Alfred slipped on the seat of headphones next to him, Ivan quickly doing the same. Ivan’s superior was also on the helicopter, looking particularly sour.

“I am expecting better results from you two today. This helicopter is taking us to an aircraft carrier well off the coast of the island Kirkland is on. We will be infiltrating Sant’angelo della polvere by night, and you two will find Professor Williams. Make sure that he is returned safely.” Mr. Galante ordered. Ivan and Alfred nodded meekly, awed by his imposing presence despite his petite stature.

“Agent Kirkland also mentioned that they were assembling a bomb, or missile, on the island.” Alfred chipped in. 

“Locate it if you can. There are a team of bomb defusers on the aircraft carrier that will be going in with you, along with a platoon of soldiers.” Toris replied.

“Above all, don’t let Kirkland get away. Bring her back, dead or alive. And between you two and me, by that I mean dead.”

* * *

The aircraft carrier was much bigger than Alfred had anticipated. It was a sprawling mass of metal, laden with planes and helicopters. As soon as the chinook landed Alfred was off the aircraft, having decided that helicopter rides weren’t his cup of joe. He was immediately greeted by a man in a military uniform, who saluted. Alfred, unsure what to do, saluted back. The man then pressed a mass of folders into his hands.

“These are the strategic plans of tonight, sir. I’m lieutenant Ngata, sir. Benjamin Ngata. I’ll be leading the attack platoon.” Benjamin was a dark skinned man who looked barely 20, with curly hair that framed his handsome face. He had strange tattoos on his face that reminded Alfred of waves on the ocean. He shook Ben’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure working with you.” He replied, then glanced behind him. Ivan was looking slightly green, staring at the turbulent ocean all around them.

“Ah, if you’ll excuse me.” Alfred flashed a smile at Ben, then escaped to Ivan.

“Hey, you alright, Peril?” He asked. Ivan shook his head, his brow furrowed as he recoiled so much he nearly disappeared into his scarf.

“I don’t like the sea.” He replied with a wobble in his voice.

“It’ll be alright big guy. let’s get you a bucket and a pack of cards. It’ll be night in no time.”

* * *

It was definitely not night in no time. The strategy plan Ben had given Alfred was boring and convoluted, and he had to read it several times for the words to sink in. What even was 'advanced geospatial intelligence'? As well as that, even when Ivan was green around the gills, he was a master at poker. Ten games in and Alfred and half the platoon on the carrier had no chips to speak of.

“Royal flush.” Ivan said proudly, fanning his cards onto the table. Alfred groaned and slapped his hand on the table.

“Well, Ivan, you’re a hell of a gambler.” Ben tossed his cards away too. Ten minutes into the game Alfred had finally convinced him to stop calling them both ‘sir’, a habit he found unsettling and unnecessary. Now the man, who they had learned was from New Zealand, was handing over the last dregs of his chips.

“Trust a bloody kiwi to lose!” One of the other soldiers piped up, throwing a red chip at Ben.

“Shut the fuck up, Jett, or I’ll break another one of your fingers.” Ben sniped back, which made the rest of the soldiers break into laughter. Jett seemed ready to fling another insult when the door of the room flung open. It was Toris, looking even more serious than usual. He glanced at Ivan and the giant pile of chips in front of him, raised an eyebrow at Alfred, then announced,

“It’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! Exams have been hell ;u; 
> 
> This chapter was a bit of a calm one, but the real action will start next chapter, don't worry! (I wonder who Professor Williams could be? ;3)
> 
> By the way - Benjamin Ngata (My headcanon of aph New Zealand) is of Maori and European descent. The tattoos on his face are traditional Maori 'moko'. This is an example of a Maori face tattoo - http://zealandtattoo.co.nz/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/maori-tribe-face-tattoo-300x199.jpg


	16. Close encounters of the Kirkland kind

Cloaked in the obsidian darkness, the ten boats cut through the water like knives. Above them the constellations were hidden by black, stormy clouds. The only light came from the bridge, where a flickering green radar mapped their journey. Alfred gripped the side of the small motorboat, watching the aircraft carrier disappear behind them. Ivan was beside him, clutching Alfred’s wrist. Every jump of the boat made bile rise in his throat.

“It’ll be over soon, Ivan. Deep breaths.” Alfred said absentmindedly, gazing into the darkness ahead. Far away in the darkness, he could see the lights of Sant’angelo’s fishing town. Far to the right of that were another cluster of white specks; that was where they were headed.

“Try looking at the horizon. It helps sometimes.” Ben suggested from his position at the back of the boat. Two other soldiers of his platoon were on the boat, checking their ammunition.

“Hey kid, where did you get your tattoos?” Alfred asked as Ivan squinted at the indistinct horizon. 

“They’re part of the culture back home. I got them when my pa died in the second world war. Figured if I couldn’t see him again, I could still keep his legacy going.” Ben replied. He put his hand to his chest and pulled a necklace out from under his military uniform.

“This was his, too. Reminds me of home, you know?” he continued, with a wistful sigh. Alfred nodded. He’d felt the same as a teenager, lost in a country he knew nothing about, fighting a war that felt pointless.

“Make sure you don’t lose that, kid.” Alfred replied, then turned to look ahead of the boat. They were drawing close. The boats slowed to a crawl, all light sources snuffed. Ivan’s hand drifted down from Alfred’s wrist and clutched his hand instead.

* * *

The boats docked on an uninhabited stretch of beach, well away from the patrolling guards. Instantly soldiers ran onto the beach, getting in formation. Alfred, Ivan and Ben led the group. A short way up the bay and they could already see the mansion’s dock. Guards stood watching the choppy waves with guns at the ready.

 _Fwit._ Muffled bullets cleaved the air, felling five of them nearly all at once. Alfred motioned Ben over.

“Ivan and I are going to try and find a way into the mansion. Good luck, lieutenant.” The two saluted each other, then Alfred and Ivan crept away from the group quickly advancing on the dock. Ivan followed Alfred up off the beach and into a cluster of trees. Above the dock was a jungle of concrete, all with guards stationed at the ready. Past that, stairs led to a huge building with barred windows and huge, daunting doors. The two crept through the trees until they reached the side of the building. A guard was watching the solitary side door.

“Allow me.” Ivan murmured, raising his gun.

_Fwip. Thud._

After a quick glance to either side the two ran to the door. It was locked, but Alfred had them inside in seconds.

Click. The lights on their submachine guns flickered to life, revealing their location to be an empty hall. They continued on, discovering a staircase leading both upwards and downwards.

“They may be keeping the professor in the basement.” Ivan suggested. Alfred shrugged.

“Let’s not split up. That never ends well in movies.” He replied quietly. They crept down the stairs, wincing at every metallic clang their footsteps made. Alfred suddenly stopped and motioned for Ivan to stop too. He pressed his ear to the wall beside him.

 _‘Come now, Matthew. It wouldn’t do to half finish the job, would it?’_ That was Kirkland’s voice. He put his fingers to his lips, then crept down the staircase. The further down they went, the clearer the voices became.

_‘The missile is complete.’_

_‘Oh, no it isn’t. Take that disc out of your pocket and put it where it belongs, Professor Williams.’_

_‘Alright, alright. Don’t point your guns at me.’_

_‘Thank you. You’ve been very useful...'_ A slight pause, an intake of breath. _'...Guard.’_

_BANG!_

The sudden noise made Alfred flinch and his foot kicked a stray piece of metal across the ground. He winced at the sound it made. He and Ivan froze, holding their breath. A soldier slammed open the door in front of them. _Ratatatat!_ Alfred sprayed him with lead, the soldier’s body convulsing with every shot until he finally collapsed to the floor. He warily poked his head around the corner. Alice Kirkland stood with a gun held to the head of a tall, terrified looking man in a lab coat. There was a dent in the floor near his foot.

“Like I thought. Hello, boys.” Alice said with a smile. Ivan stormed towards her with a black glare on his face. In response she flicked off the safety of her pistol, making Ivan freeze.

“Ah ah ah, not so hasty. Any closer and dear Professor here loses his precious little life.” Alice tutted.

“And he’s been ever so helpful. He even went to the trouble to make two missiles, exactly the same - except for one little difference. Only one of them’s nuclear.” She said with a wink. Now Alfred saw the two large objects, identical to each other, sitting next to each other on a table.

“Wouldn’t it make life a little easier if you knew which was which? If you’re quite curious, maybe you should put down your little guns.” She suggested. Ivan growled but put down his gun. Alfred slowly did the same.

“Kick them away from you.” Alice demanded. They complied, giving her a black look. Alfred quickly analysed the situation. Ivan might be able to reach Alice before she pulled the trigger, but it was a long shot. And what if she was bluffing? Her - oh dear.

His frenzied train of thought was cut short by the feeling of cold metal poking into his back.

“There you are! Well, I have places to go, people to kill, you know how it is.” Alice said with a smile. _Bang!_ Professor Williams crumpled to the floor. Alfred instantly sprang into action. He twisted around and knocked the gun out of the hands of the man behind him. He punched his nose and quickly moved on to the next nearest target. Ivan was raining hell on the soldier nearest him too. A few headbutts and punches later, and they were surrounded by incapacitated guards. 

“Bloody bad mercenaries in Italy.” Alfred wiped blood from his nose. It was only then that he noticed that Alice, and the two missiles, were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa, this is so much action for one chapter! It's exciting ^u^ 
> 
> I found a very cool website while writing this chapter! http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Man_from_U.N.C.L.E.,_The_(2015) is a database of weapons used in the Man from U.N.C.L.E movie. This is super helpful and was what led me to choose Alfred and Ivan using submachine guns in this chapter. Yay for accuracy!
> 
> By the way - The green pendant Benjamin has is a pounamu (greenstone) pendant that is considered taonga (treasure) in Maori culture. Here's what they look like - https://www.thevaultnz.com/user/images/1118.jpg?t=1211240818


	17. The good, the bad, and the muddy

The two agents stood still for a moment. Alfred carefully checked that all the guards were unconscious, then knelt down to feel the professor’s pulse. The professor was a blonde, kind looking man, whose soft blue eyes were unfocused and milky. 

His heart sank as he failed to find a heartbeat. This should have been unsurprising due to the crimson blood pooling around his head, but Alfred felt deflated all the same at the confirmation. He gently closed the man’s eyes, picked his gun up from the floor then stood up to face Ivan. He nodded and they headed out of the room, back the way they had come. 

“You’re bleeding, Cowboy. Here, take this.” Ivan handed Alfred a handkerchief as they jogged up the stairs. Alfred accepted it gratefully and tried to stop the blood flowing from his nose.

“Where do you think she’s gone?” Alfred asked nasally. 

“Almost certainly out of the mansion. She knows she isn’t safe here anymore.” Ivan replied. The two ran down countless hallways, ears strained for the slightest noise of movement. The building was a maze, inadvertently perfect for disorienting intruders. Corridor after corridor led to bedrooms, parlours, offices, rooms full of scientific equipment. Soon the two were completely lost. Even the sound of gunshots from the docks below felt far away. They warily entered another room, a boiler room with a door that seemed to lead outside.

_VROOM!_

Alfred ran to the door and pushed it open. Far in the distance, he could see the headlights of a car speeding away.

“That’s her, I just know it.” Alfred said angrily, watching the specks of light fade away. He glanced around quickly. Along the building to the left was what seemed to be a garage, jutting out from the rest of the building. He ran - stumbled - to it through the darkness. The brush underfoot was a clawed beast, dragging its talons across his feet with every step.

“Slow down, Alfred!” Ivan called, jogging behind him. Alfred ignored him, already at the garage’s open entrance. He quickly flashed his gun’s torch around. A jeep and a motorcycle sat in the pitch black room, gleaming in the torch’s light.

“I call dibs on the jeep.” Alfred yelled, already clambering into the vehicle.

“I’ll come in from the side while you tail her.” Ivan had reached the garage and begrudgingly accepted the motorbike.

“Alright - I’ll try to hit her off the road if I can.” Alfred said. After a moment of fiddling with a wire he had the jeep humming. He steeled his gaze, gripped the steering wheel, and slammed down on the accelerator.

* * *

Ivan watched Alfred speed away into the distance with a nervous frown. His gut was telling him something felt off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. Whatever it was, it was putting him on edge. He got onto the motorbike and was relieved to find the keys had been left in the ignition. He drove out of the garage smoothly and accelerated sharply. The road was gravelly and he had to fight to keep the bike from tipping over. He could barely see anything, either - the motorcycle’s one headlight was laughably weak. Nonetheless, he pushed the bike to go even faster and careened down the road. 

“ _Bystreye, bystreye, bystreye._ ” He muttered, wincing at the lashing wind on his face. A sudden turn caught him by surprise - he swerved - only just made it. His heart pounded, the only sound loud enough to drown out the growling engine. Another turn - overestimated it - Ivan was off the road and plunging into a forest. He panicked and wrenched the bike to the left, clipping a trunk. Now he was fighting just to stay on the motorcycle. Up a ridge, back onto the road. He could see Alfred’s car now; they’d caught up with Alice.

“Fuck!” Ivan swore as he swerved to avoid a tree root. Thud! Alfred was ramming into the side of Alice’s jeep. It sailed off the edge of the road - but so did Alfred. Ivan gasped. In his one break of concentration, his wheel skidded. 

Flying.

The bike was sailing through the air, spinning madly. Ivan was thrown off the seat and he arced through the air. Falling - 

_falling -_

_Thud._ Pain shot up through his leg. He couldn’t stop rolling head over heels, again and again. Finally he slammed into something metallic and couldn’t stop his yell of pain. There was no time for pain, he had to find Alfred. He could barely see anything, couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. The pain in his leg was too great for him to stand, so he crawled, gritting his teeth. In the light of the creeping dawn he saw a man with a gun standing over a dark figure - no, it was Alfred! Ivan was suddenly full of adrenaline and pulled himself to his feet. With an almighty yell he slammed into the man’s body and crushed him into the ground. He punched blindly, landing barely half of his shots.

“Ivan…” Alfred’s voice snapped him out of his rage. The red mist slowly disappeared from his vision and Ivan turned around to see Alfred slowly sitting up, staring at him wide-eyed. Behind him was the wreckage of his jeep, glass strewn everywhere. Sticking out of the mud was one of the missiles Ivan had seen in the room with Kirkland.

“Are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” Ivan demanded, taking a step towards him. It seemed the adrenaline had worn off, because the instant he put weight on his left leg it collapsed under him, making him cry out in pain. He landed in front of Alfred and groaned.

“Ivan! Don’t move too much.” Alfred pulled Ivan’s head up from the mud and cradled it on his lap. Ivan winced, every breath shaky.

“I’m fine, but your leg looks lacerated pretty badly. Don’t try to move it, alright?” Alfred told him, caressing his hair. Ivan looked up at his partner’s face with teary eyes, his usual cold exterior gone.

“When your car spun out - I was so worried -” Ivan couldn’t finish his sentence, his emotions overcoming him. Tears of pain mingled with tears of relief and joy, beautiful joy that Alfred was still alive.

“Ssh. It’s alright. Just try and relax. I’d love to give you some proper medical attention, but given the circumstances, I think this’ll have to do.” Alfred said, then leant down to kiss Ivan. Alfred’s lips were cut and dirty but Ivan didn’t care, instead pressing into the kiss with every last scrap of energy. It was finally getting lighter and the sky was becoming a dusky grey. Alfred gently pulled away from the kiss and held Ivan close.

“It’s alright. We have the missile. I still have my radio on me, so we can get back. I’ve got to go radio to get someone to airlift you out of here, but i’ll be back as soon as I can.” With one final kiss, Alfred gently rested the back of Ivan’s head on the ground and stood up, pulling a radio from his belt. Ivan closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain barraging his senses. They had the missile - their mission was nearly over. Would he ever be able to see Alfred again afterwards? The thought was nearly as painful as the agony in his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bystreye' means 'faster' in Russian.
> 
> Aaaa! An angsty chapter! It fuels my little angst-loving heart >:3c 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3


	18. Watch your head

“Well, you did a good job locating the missile.” Toris admitted to Alfred, breathing out a puff of smoke.

“Problem is,” he paused to tap his cigarette, “You got the wrong one.” Alfred’s heart sank. He was back on the aircraft carrier, sitting near the runway with Toris. He stared out onto the emerald waves, thinking furiously.

“Is Kirkland still on the island?” He asked, to which Toris shook his head.

“Lieutenant Ngata’s had the place combed over twice. She’s out on the water somewhere. You’re wanted up in the control room to help in the search.” He replied.

“Um. Sir, if you don’t mind, would I be able to visit Ivan before that?” Alfred asked. Toris gave him a suspiciously knowing look, and nodded.

“He’s in the lower medical bay.”

* * *

_“Alfred… Alfred? I can’t see. Where are you? Don’t leave me, Alfred. Don’t leave me in the darkness. Alfred?”_

Ivan’s eyes snapped open. Cold, sterile light bathed him, making him want to sneeze. A quick glance around told him he was in a medical bay, disconnected from the rest of the world by thick yellow curtains. There was more bandage than arm on his left side, and his leg felt like somebody had drawn a chainsaw over it. He groaned and sat up. 

“Slow down, Peril, you’ll open up your wounds.” Ivan jumped, only now seeing Alfred sitting beside him. The American’s hands moved to gently caress his hair, comforting him. 

“Was the missile-?” Ivan’s husky, unfinished question was answered by a tight smile from Alfred.

“No. But that’s alright, we’ll find it. Kirkland is out on the ocean somewhere. We’ll find her.” Alfred reassured him. Alfred leant in close to Ivan.

“Thank you.” He murmured. “You saved my life out there.”

Ivan made an embarrassed noise. “Nobody gets to hurt my cowboy.” He replied, feeling his cheeks heat up. Alfred’s hands slowly guided Ivan’s head towards his, glancing down at Ivan’s lips. They kissed tenderly, then passionately, pent up emotion overflowing as they embraced each other. Ivan’s right arm beld Alfred’s waist tightly, pulling him half onto the bed. Alfred finally pulled away breathlessly, running a hand through his hair.

“They’re still looking for Kirkland. I need to get up there.” He said apologetically. Ivan responded by gritting his teeth, closing his eyes, and hauling his legs off the side of the bed. He winced and Alfred grabbed his shoulder.

“Whoah there, partner, you need to rest.” He said sternly. Ivan ignored him, forcing his muscles to pull him into a wobbling standing position. 

“I’m helping. No, don’t try to tell me to get back in bed.” Ivan declared.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later and the two men successfully found themselves in the control room, after a minor issue of a staircase kept Ivan from getting there for a good ten minutes. Alfred immediately went to talk to Toris while Ivan tried to look casual as he gripped onto a bench for dear life.

“Any new intel?” Alfred asked, inspecting the ship’s radar.

“No large ships have left Sant’angelo, only fisher boats. There are dozens of them in the ocean around the island and they’re getting farther away as we speak.” Toris replied. Alfred considered this for a moment, absentmindedly playing with a stray curly lock of his blonde hair.

“Is there a list of fishing boats?” He asked. Toris nodded and passed him a small notebook from a table nearby. Alfred whistled, admiring the countless boat names printed in tiny font. _Ametista, Arcobaleno, Avorio._ He skimmed through the list - then a sudden memory hit him. That photograph he’d seen in Isabel’s house. What had it said? Dera? Dorna? Dema! 

“Dema, dema, dema.” He muttered, flicking through the list. _Delfino, Denuncia, Diadema._

“Diadema! That’s the boat Kirkland is on.” Alfred declared, much to Toris’ surprise.

“Can you get it’s location?” He asked the ship’s captain, who readjusted his cap.

“It’s possible. You’d have to keep a phone line open for a while, though.” He replied. Alfred smiled, an idea blossoming in his mind.

“I think I may know just the way to stop that boat.”

* * *

Alice Kirkland stood on the prow of the small fishing boat, enjoying the cool sea breeze on her skin. There was nothing quite as invigorating as an ocean wind in the morning. She idly watched the waves as she wondered what to do with her new nuclear missile. She knew a few people who would pay big to have the chance to land one of these on the United States. The gleaming object of her thoughts lay in the middle of the boat, sparkling in the sunlight Her musings were suddenly cut short by the sound of the ship’s radio crackling to life. She sighed, annoyed at the interruption.

 _“Diadema, please call in. Diadema, please call in.”_ She ignored it. There was a slight pause, then the static started again.

 _“Kirkland.”_ It seemed to be the voice of that agent Alfred. How annoying. _“When Ivan and I were in France, we happened to meet a lovely man called Francis. Quite a shame that he had to die, really.”_ Alice bristled. So that was why Francis wasn’t calling her. Her indifference was overcome by anger and she picked up the radio’s microphone.

“Alfred Jones, when I find you I am going to kill everybody you know and love in front of you.”

_“How romantic. I assume your plan now is to escape to Europe? Russia, perhaps?”_

“I think it hardly matters to you. You may have found what boat I’m on but you don’t know my location.” Alice replied smugly. There was a slight chuckle from the other end.

 _“Oh, I don’t know about that. In fact, we have a little present coming for you. Forgive me for being rude and returning a gift, but really, what use do I have for a plain old missile? It should be there in about, oh, ten seconds. So,”_ Alfred coughed gently, _“I would watch your head.”_ Alice dropped the microphone, leaving it to swing on its cord. She ran out onto the prow. She could only watch in shock as a small speck in the sky hurtled towards her. She fell to her knees, still staring at the missile. One final thought strayed across her mind before the missile landed.

Bloody Americans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! How is this story ending so fast?! It's not over yet though, folks, so stay tuned ;3
> 
> Ametista - Amethyst  
> Arcobaleno - Rainbow  
> Avorio - Ivory  
> Delfino - Dolphin  
> Denuncia - Declaration


	19. The men from U.N.C.L.E

Alfred woke to sunlight filtering onto his face. He sniffed and scrunched up his nose, becoming aware of the muggy heat of the room. He slowly opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows when he saw Ivan slumbering next to him. The rest of the day after the mission’s completion had been a blur of medical assessments and paper filing, so by the time the two had returned to their little hotel room they’d fallen asleep nearly instantly. 

“Good morning, Peril.” Alfred murmured, kissing his forehead gently. Ivan had suffered from a concussion and bruising, but fortunately his leg injuries weren’t bad enough to require surgery. Now he watched the man’s chest gently rise and fall to the rhythm of his (quite noisy) snores. The scarf had been thrown onto the bedside table and Alfred glanced at its bloody, dirt covered state. Ivan had looked about the same last night, but a shower and a rest had him returned to looking normal. Alfred’s sleepy mind reminded him that Toris was coming over at noon, so he really should get dressed. He forced himself out of bed and started to sleepily dress himself. Something nice and casual… He settled on a nice blue shirt - one of the few he owned that wasn’t now stained by blood, dirt or the like. He considered that he really should take a trip to a laundromat.

“That shirt doesn’t match your trousers.” Alfred smiled as strong arms hugged his stomach, a chin resting on his shoulder.

“It doesn’t have to match.” He replied. Ivan chuckled, a low rumbling that Alfred now realised he had never heard before, and already loved. The two stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. Alfred finally broke the peaceful silence.

“What are we going to do?” He asked softly. Ivan didn’t reply.

“I’m not… I’m not sure I could bear never seeing you again.” Alfred admitted quietly. 

“Don’t think about that now.” Ivan murmured. “We still have today to be together.”

* * *

The two agents were smoking on the hotel’s garden roof when Toris came to meet them. Alfred waved, tipping down his sunglasses.

“Hello, sir.” He greeted him. Toris grunted, joining them on the roof’s side railing. He appreciated the view for a moment, then turned to the two men.

“You two… Did well.” He admitted. Alfred’s face cracked into a grin.

“To think I’m alive to hear you say that!” He teased, and Toris raised an eyebrow. There was no mistaking the slight smile on the old man’s face, however.

“Cooperation between the United States and the Soviet Union is clearly necessary at this time, especially now that a new enemy to the world had appeared…” He glanced shrewdly at them.

“Have either of you heard of THRUSH?” He asked. Alfred and Ivan looked at each other.

“Isn’t that a species of bird?” Alfred hazarded.

“I wish you’d take this seriously.” Toris replied with a sigh. “It’s an independant crime organisation that threatens every super power in the world. From what information we can find of the late Alice Kirkland, she may have been an agent working under them.” He continued.

“Due to this, The United States, Soviet Union, United Kingdom and Netherlands have chosen to found an organisation that will bring all nationalities together to work against this threat. It will be known as the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, or… U.N.C.L.E.” Toris finished.

“So… What does this have to do with us?” Alfred asked.

“Well, you two are the newest recruits.” Toris replied. Alfred looked at him for a moment, cogs in his mind ticking.

“So… What you’re saying is… Me and Ivan -”

“- Ivan and _I_ , use proper grammar, Jones -”

“- Ivan and I are going to keep being partners?” Alfred slowly asked. Toris nodded.

“Ah, okay. Alright.” Alfred tried to keep a mad grin off his face, instead pretending to look disinterested.

“Be at the airport in two hours. There will be a private plane to take you to the headquarters in New York. Your next mission starts next week, so be ready.” With that final note, Toris turned on his heel and left.

“I hope you two will meet my standards.” His final warning was followed by the thud of a closing door.

Alfred and Ivan looked at each other - Ivan’s face wore a look of shock and relief, Alfred’s face an emotion of pure joy.

“I hope we get a nice proper apartment in New York.” He said, finally letting his excitement spill over. “A penthouse suite, where we can see everything for miles!”

“I’m just calling it now - I get to design the lounge decorations.” Alfred said with a smile. 

“Don’t push your luck, cowboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, this was so much fun to write! I hope you all enjoyed coming on this adventure with me :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are, as always, appreciated immensely, and thank you all so much for reading this!


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